


Stardust

by Amber_Angel



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Artist Jeremy, Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Tags to be added, The boys rebuilding their friendship, and yes, boyf riends - Freeform, hoh jeremy, partially deaf jeremy, the squip squad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 00:51:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13353030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber_Angel/pseuds/Amber_Angel
Summary: Jeremy, as an artist, had a different way of looking at the world; a certain lens that he alone seemed to be able to see through. Inspiration came in the tiniest things, like a cool breeze on a blistering day, the dim shine of light on a hardwood floor, a soft puff of smoke, and most commonly, in his friends. In the rapid click of Jenna’s nails on her phone, the sharp edge of Chloe’s eyeliner, the soft sweetness of Brooke’s smile. Pages and pages of his notebooks were dedicated to them, and in drawing them, he found that he understood each of them a little better, found that each of them had a specific element to them, a reoccurring theme that he desperately wanted to capture.****Jeremy likes to draw, and his friends are supportive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about writing something like this for a while now. First, let me just say, I wrote this for three reasons: because I can't seem to get stars out of my head, because we need more fics rebuilding Jeremy and Michael's friendship, and because I am, myself, hearing impaired, and I recently learned just how fun it is to project so much onto characters. HOWEVER! The hoh Jeremy au itself was not created by me, but by tinylittle-femalechrist on Tumblr. So give them credit if you like the idea. 
> 
> Updates may be irregular, because of school, and because I want to put all of my effort into this. But it will be written through to the end. I have never left a story unfinished, and I don't plan to start with this one.

  Jeremy, as an artist, had a different way of looking at the world; a certain lens that he alone seemed to be able to see through. Inspiration came in the tiniest things, like a cool breeze on a blistering day, the dim shine of light on a hardwood floor, a soft puff of smoke, and most commonly, in his friends. In the rapid click of Jenna’s nails on her phone, the sharp edge of Chloe’s eyeliner, the soft sweetness of Brooke’s smile. Pages and pages of his notebooks were dedicated to them, and in drawing them, he found that he understood each of them a little better, found that each of them had a specific element to them, a reoccurring theme that he desperately wanted to capture. 

 

    Because his art was an escape. A safe haven where Jeremy could be, could create without restriction, refraction, or judgement.  No one ever bothered to ask what he was drawing, because he drew constantly. It had just become a fact of life. The sky was blue, high school was hell, and Jeremy Heere drew his way through life. 

 

    They were sitting at lunch when it started: Jeremy sketching out a new drawing of Christine, absently dragging his pencil across the paper. Everyone else had already filled in, and they were chatting about some irrelevant but apparently funny topic including Madeleine, Dustin, and a wayward lawn mower. Michael, sitting next to Jeremy, laughed quietly and glanced over at Jeremy's notebook. 

 

    “That looks pretty good, dude,” he said, motioning to the picture. “Realistic.”

 

    Jeremy scoffed. 

 

    “Thanks, but I don't know if ‘realistic’ is the word I would use.”

 

    On the page, Christine was poised as she had been yesterday at play rehearsal, hands clutched to her chest, eyes closed, lips parted to let out one last sustained note. That in itself was real enough. But Jeremy had drawn more. In his picture, Christine was trapped in a spiral of the audience's tears. Her hair whipped out behind her from the power of their sobs. Water surrounded her, but she didn't seem to feel a drop. 

 

    “Well, it looks nice, anyway,” Michael concluded, turning back to the group. 

 

    “Damn right it does,” Rich chimed in from across the table. 

 

    “You can't even see it,” Chloe pointed out. 

    Rich waved her off. 

    “Doesn't matter. It's Jeremy, it's obviously good. Dude, you do know that the school is having an art competition, right? You should totally enter!” 

 

    “Oh, uh, thanks, Rich. But-” 

 

    “No, you should, Jeremy!” Christine exclaimed, leaning into him to look at his drawing. “You could win easily!” 

 

    “But, Chris-” 

 

    “She's right,” Chloe interjected. “You would crush the rest of those losers.”

 

    “Chloe,” Brooke protested. 

 

    “Sorry. The rest of the competition.”

 

    Jeremy squirmed in his seat and shrugged. 

 

    “I just don't think it'd be a good idea,” he said. “Besides, don't the artists have to present their work and explain their inspiration? You know how I get in front of crowds.” 

 

    The group let out a collective, “Oh, yeah,” and Jenna shrugged at him from across the table, nudging Rich away from her as he feigned a disappointed faint. Jake smirked from Rich's other side and put an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders as Jenna leaned forward. 

 

    “You do what you want, Jeremy,” she told him. “But I do agree with Rich. You have more than enough talent to win, ignoring the artist presentations.”

 

    Jeremy gave her an uncomfortable smile and went back to drawing. 

 

****

 

    Michael drove him home after school that day, and they both sat in comfortable silence, listening to Michael's new musical obsession floating from the speakers. The guy's name was Andrew McMahon, and his music sounded like a cross between alternative rock, and country, back when country music was decent. Jeremy's personal favorite was  [ _ Rainy Girl _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHBaGMZ05PA) _. _ He sometimes played it when he drew Christine. It fit into what he had come to think of as “her theme.” 

 

    Each of his friends had a set theme, a tidbit of their personalities that Jeremy incorporated into his drawings. Christine's was water: graceful, beautiful, and not always as shallow as it seems at first. Christine, he had discovered, had even more depth to her than he had first thought. She could be bubbly and sweet, as excitable as the quick-running waters of a stream, as still and patient of the settled waves of a calm ocean, or as fierce, powerful, and frightening as a stormy sea. She was constantly in motion, sweeping her friends into her current as she practically danced through life. 

 

    It was why he had fallen in love with her all those years ago, and why he still felt a swell of affection every time he saw her. The ocean was a beautiful sight, and Christine proved to be no exception. 

 

    “Jeremy?”

 

    Michael's voice brought him back to reality, and he startled, looking out the window to realize that they had reached his house, and that Michael was looking at him strangely. 

 

    “Yep, I'm fine,” Jeremy replied quickly, unbuckling himself. “So, what're we playing today?”

 

    Michael shrugged, hopping out of the car. 

 

    “Actually, today I was thinking you could show me some of your drawings.”

 

    “Michael-”

 

    “Jeremy, you could win that competition! And you know it.”

 

    “I know, okay? I know that I could,” Jeremy snapped, turning his back on Michael to open the front door. “I just don't want to.”

 

    “Why not?” Michael challenged, following him in. “And don't you dare tell me that it's because of the presentations. I know that's not it.” 

 

    “And why can't that be it? It's a valid fear. You know that I'm shit in front of people.”

 

    “That can't be it because the judge is Mr. Reyes. And I know that you're not nervous around him.”

 

    “I'm willing to learn to be,” Jeremy mumbled. 

 

    “Jere…” The old nickname stopped Jeremy in his tracks, and his breath caught. He hadn't heard Michael call him that since… before the Squip. “Just think about it. Really, seriously think about it. Call it a favor to me.” 

 

    Jeremy could only nod, and they headed the rest of the way up to his room. Michael flopped down on the bed and looked at Jeremy expectantly. 

 

    “What?” Jeremy asked.

 

    “I told you, we're gonna look at some of those masterpieces of yours,” Michael replied, grinning as Jeremy groaned. 

 

    “And  _ I  _ told  _ you _ , they're not masterpieces. Just regular pieces.” 

 

    “Bullshit. Pull ‘em out,” Michael demanded. Jeremy rolled his eyes, but he pulled out some of his drawings from earlier in the year. Most of them featured Christine in some pose or another, but there were a fair amount dedicated to the other members of their squad as well, and Michael oohed and ahhed as he went through them. 

 

    “You seem to have a certain... style for everyone except me,” Michael commented, staring at two seperate pictures of him. The first looked like something out of a nightmare. Michael was grinning at Jeremy over his shoulder, like he sometimes did at lunch, his headphones up and secure over his ears. But his eyes glowed blue, and there were shining lines of circuit seemingly seared into his cheeks and neck. 

 

    The second was a sight that Jeremy knew well. It was Michael, sitting in the driver's seat of his old Cruiser, eyes closed, head back against the seat as he waited for Jeremy. He had drawn the music from the radio as a sort of shapeless, sentient being, notes and waves holding Michael's face in transparent hands, a curvy tail leading from its body to the stereo that looked like lines of sheet music. 

 

    “I, uh, can't really peg you,” Jeremy said, once he realized that Michael apparently wanted an answer to his not-quite-question. “You're graceful and confident, like music, and of course, music is a big part of who you are, but I don't know if it really summarizes you as a whole. You're more than just what you like.”

 

    “And the… uh…?” Michael gestured to the first drawing. 

 

    “Bad dream,” Jeremy replied. “It helps if I draw them out.”

 

    “Oh.”

 

    They flipped to the next page.

 

**** 

 

    Jeremy was late to lunch the next day, because he stopped by the vending machine to grab a bag of chips. The cafeteria food tasted like plastic, but he could usually make it to the end of the day with a bag of Lays. 

 

    He plopped down in his usual seat between Michael and Christine and opened the bag. Everyone was there except for Jake, who had apparently come down with a light case of stomach flu. Jeremy noticed that Rich shot a sad glance at the empty chair beside him as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. 

 

    “So, Jeremy. I signed you up for the art competition,” Rich said. 

 

    Everyone at the table turned to him.

 

    “Why?!” came out of five different mouths at the same time. 

 

    Jeremy choked, coughed, and let out a weak, strangled, “Why?” voice cracking in the middle of the word.

 

    Rich shrugged.

 

    “Jake isn't here. He's, like, 90% of my impulse control.”

 

    Michael let out a stifled snicker, and Brooke swatted his arm. 

 

    “Rich,” she reprimanded, “you shouldn't have done that. You know Jeremy didn't want to enter the competition!” 

 

    “Yeah, so? There are a lot of things that Jeremy doesn't want to do, but he does them anyway. And this is something that he  _ should  _ do! Brooke, you've seen his drawings! He's incredible!” He turned to Jeremy. “You're incredible! You  _ need _ to do this. Plus, registration is always the most stressful part, and I did it for you! Now all you have to do is draw.”

 

    “D-did they give you an information packet?” Jeremy asked tonelessly, hand rising to tug on a stray curl of hair. His hand bumped into his hearing aid, and he winced at the squeak that it emitted. 

 

    “Yep.” Rich slid a packet across the table to him. It looked… really thick. Jeremy gave the curl a hard yank. Christine frowned beside him and gently pulled his hand away. 

 

    “You can do this, Jeremy,” she told him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have been neglecting Jenna in most of my other fics, which is a crime. So, here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, irregular updates, so sorry. There are a few trigger warnings in this chapter, I have bold text to warn you when they're coming up, and what they're about. 
> 
> AND, I feel the need to mention that Jeremy's experience with his hearing aid is based completely off of me. I know that what I have isn't the most common type, so I thought I should just establish that. 
> 
> Enjoy!

     Jeremy had skimmed the packet a total of ten times since getting home. Every single word looked like gibberish, and now just touching the thing made his stomach clench. He needed help. 

 

**Heerenorthere:** _ Jenna I need moral support this packet is draining the life force from me _

 

**TheyseemeRolan:** _ Meet me at the library in ten. Bring a notepad, water, and some granola bars _

 

    He threw the offending packet into a bag with the rest of Jenna’s requirements and headed out. Michael was normally his ride- he used to be his only friend that could drive- but Jeremy didn’t want to bother him. He found himself thinking that more and more whenever he thought about talking to Michael. Like he had lost the right to bother him, even though it had almost been a year since… everything that had happened. 

 

    Jeremy had apologized. Many, many times. And Michael had forgiven him. Still, Jeremy couldn’t help feeling like there was something missing, some vital trust that had been lost. They had slowly rebuilt their relationship, but that trust was still absent, glossed over with shared playlists and bad puns. He knew, of course, that trust wasn’t just something that came in a matter of minutes. It took time to build and fortify. It was possible to lose in a second, though. That much was evident. Out of everything he had learned from the Squip incident, that would be the one lesson that he could pick out of a lineup.

 

    When he got to the library, Jenna was already there, hunched over a book at one of the tables. She looked about ready to keel over. 

 

    “Hey,” Jeremy said, sliding into the seat across the table. “Thanks for coming.”

 

    Jenna waved him off and stuck out a hand.

 

    “Yeah, yeah, sure. Granola?”

 

    “Did you agree to help me just so I would bring snacks?” Jeremy asked, handing one of the bars in his bag to her. Jenna unwrapped it and took a bite.

 

    “I’m wounded,” she muttered around her mouthful, “that you discovered my ulterior motives so quickly. Where’s the source of pain?”

    Jeremy took the packet out of his bag and slid it across the table. Jenna bent over to examine it, so Jeremy sat in silence for an awkward minute, scanning the library for something to look at so he wasn’t just sitting there watching Jenna read. 

 

    Jenna. Her theme was electric. Literally. Every time Jeremy draw her, it was with sparks in her eyes, and lightning creeping up her arms and blasting out to the sides of the paper, a tribute to both her love and mastery of technology, and her strong, fierce personality. Of course, it was also partly because when he had asked her to choose between fire, water, wind, and earth, she had told him that she chose lightning. 

 

    “It’s strong, vibrant, and when it happens, everyone notices it,” had been her reason. Her own description fit her perfectly. 

 

    The last piece that Jeremy had drawn of her was a black background, cut through the middle by one streak of grey. Jenna stood on that line, hands outstretched as if she were a bird poised for flight. She wore a circlet of lighting for a crown, and a shroud of storm clouds as a cloak. Her veins showed through, and they looked as if they were glowing, embedded with yellow streaks. 

    “Okay.” Jenna straightened up and let out a long breath, drawing Jeremy out of his thoughts. “Any type of reading hurts now, honestly, but this is so much better than trying to cram for my History test. So, most of it is just irrelevant information that you won’t need until the actual presentation, like date and time, but they do apparently have a theme this year that they ask you to adhere to.”

 

    She stopped talking to take another bite of granola bar, pausing when she noticed Jeremy’s curious look.

 

    “I haven’t eaten yet today. You have no idea how good granola tastes when it’s the first food you’ve had all day.”

 

    Jeremy frowned. 

 

    “I could have brought more food,” he said. “You shouldn’t go so long without eating, Jen. It’s not good for you.”

 

    “I’m fine. I’ve just been too busy to eat. But my mom’s making lasagna tonight, so I plan to go to bed with a full stomach.” She grinned. “Anyway, back to your competition. The packet says that this year’s theme is “A Study of Person.” Meaning that they want you to create art pieces that showcases a certain person’s personality. You have to have a singular model to base your work off of, and they say it should preferably be someone that you don’t already have fully pegged.”

 

    “Wait, you said pieces. As in, not singular piece, like, more than one? I have to draw more than one thing of whoever my model is?”

 

    “Yep. They want to see how your style and portrayal evolves over time. Which is why you have a month and a half to make your art.”

 

    “And you’re sure it’s too late to drop out?”

 

    “Jeremy,” Jenna huffed, “like it or not, you have talent. And now that Rich went to the trouble of signing you up for an event to showcase it, I’m not letting you back out. So start brainstorming. Who is your model going to be? And hand me one of those water bottles.”

 

    Jeremy passed her a bottle and sighed. 

 

    “I don’t know. If they want to see style evolution, then I don’t think I can do any of you guys. I already have set themes for you. Well, for everyone except…” 

 

    “Except…?” Jenna prompted, unscrewing the cap. 

 

    “Except for Michael.”

 

    “Then do Michael.”

 

    “But I’ll have to ask him to do it,” Jeremy protested. He wasn’t sure why the idea of asking Michael to model for this stupid competition made him so anxious, but he had learned to listen to the coiling threat of stomach pain in his gut that his nerves birthed. 

 

    “Why? You never ask any of us when you draw for yourself.”

 

    “This is different! It’s a public event. It’s like posting a picture of someone else online. You shouldn’t do it without permission.”

 

    “You twist my words of wisdom well. I’m honestly a bit flattered that you remembered,” Jenna teased. 

 

    “Jenna, you gave us a forty-five minute long lecture on the importance of internet consent and privacy. How could I not remember it?” 

 

    “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

 

    “It’s not bad. I’m just impressed that you managed to stretch the topic out to fill the entire lunch period.”

 

    Jenna smirked, and took a drink of water. Jeremy saw her shoulders relax, and he wondered if she had had anything to drink that day either. 

 

    “Anyway,” she said, recapping the bottle, “you’re right about needing to ask Michael to model for you, but you don’t need to sound so nervous. It’s not like he’s going to say no.” 

 

    “You’re right,” Jeremy relented, getting up. “I’ll go ask him.”

 

    Jenna handed the packet back to him, and Jeremy started to pack up his bag, then stopped. He still had two granola bars in his bag. He didn’t even  _ like  _ granola, his dad just bought it as a quick, get-it-and-go breakfast food. 

 

    “Here.” He tossed the rest of the bars to Jenna. “Nourish yourself.”

 

    She grinned. 

 

    “Did you seriously just say ‘nourish?’”

 

    “Shut up and take the food!”

 

              ****

 

    Talking was always easier in theory. In the moment, sitting in the cold of Michael’s basement, tugging subtly on strands of his hair out of Michael’s line of vision, Jeremy could feel hesitance creeping back up on him. 

 

    He knew that he was being stupid. There was no reason to be nervous. The process was easy enough. Ask the question, get the affirmative. Because he was sure that Michael’s answer would be an affirmative. 

 

    But there was that small, nagging voice inside that whispered that maybe he wasn’t 100% sure. That maybe there was one tiny window, one possibility in which Michael said no. And, sure, that wouldn’t be so bad in itself, but “no” always makes tension. Tensión, tensione, spannung. It was awkward in every language ( _ but what the hell, German?) _ . And Jeremy had already had his fill of tension, in that horrible month that he got back from the hospital. It had played out a lot like a carefully choreographed dance, in which no one knew the steps, the song, or even a general direction of where the hell they were going. Michael had stayed by him, but he hadn’t talked much, not like before. 

 

    Jeremy had a whole list of comparisons, the before, and the after. 

    Before, Michael had been unashamedly nerdy, outgoing, and just downright loud. He had never thought twice about calling Jeremy at one a.m. to share an interesting tidbit that Tumblr had provided him. Most of the time it wasn’t even relevant to any of his interests. 

 

    “Hey, Jere, you know when you scan shit at the grocery? Well, did you know that the scanners don’t read the black bars? They read the white spaces in between.”

 

    “There’s a 57 on Heinz ketchup bottles because that’s how many varieties of pickles they used to have.”

 

    “Ever heard of Isaac Asimov? Yeah, me neither, but apparently he’s the only author to have a book in every category of the Dewey-Decimal system.”

 

    One night when Michael called, it had been near two a.m, and Jeremy had groaned as he picked up the phone and put it on speaker. 

 

**(Warning, passing mention of rape in next paragraph)**

 

    “Jeremy! You know that Greek myth, uh, Medusa? I just read the best theory! What if Athena wasn’t trying to punish Medusa by turning her into a gorgon? What if she was trying to save her? Because Poseidon was basically raping her in Athena’s temple, but she couldn’t punish him, and obviously it would seem like a punishment to turn Medusa into… her… but it wouldn’t be! Athena was just giving her a defense system!”

 

    Jeremy shot him down with one sentence.

 

    “Wasn’t it Athena who helped Perseus kill Medusa, though?” 

 

    Before, Michael had called him all sorts of nicknames, too. Jere, Jere-Bear, Miah, Player Two. Michael didn’t do that in the after. Jeremy was lucky if he got so much as a “buddy.” 

 

    There were no more one a.m. phone calls, either. Which was fine for the most part- more sleep was a blessing, not a curse- but it felt like a slight to Jeremy. Like Michael was no longer sure if he was welcome, or that Jeremy would even care to listen. 

 

    Of course, Michael was still nerdy, still confident, still outgoing, but now it seemed muted. Jeremy had an idea as to why. 

 

    Before, Michael didn’t have to care what other people thought about him. He had Jeremy, and was sure in the fact that he would always have him. When the Squip came, it had destroyed that surety, and yes, left Michael in a crisis on the bathroom floor. And while they had since rebuilt what the Squip had broken, there were still a few shards that wouldn’t fit. Leaving Michael with an understable, justified doubt as to whether or not Jeremy would stick around anymore. Because Jeremy could reassure him, and he could promise his loyalty until he was blue in the face, but that wouldn’t change the fact that he had ditched his best friend, in a decision that took less than ten seconds to make, for popularity and a girl. Michael had every reason, and every right, to mistrust Jeremy. 

 

    And right now, silently, internally struggling as he watched Michael lazily replay the first few levels of some video game- he was too keyed up to even care about identifying the characters on the screen- his mind was assaulting him, reminding him that Michael owed him nothing, and probably didn’t even want anything to do with him anymore. Jeremy was simply the better end of a double-edged sword; the choice between faking a friendship, and isolation. 

 

    “Jeremy, dude, you’ve been gawking at the screen for at least ten minutes now. You okay?” Michael asked, nudging Jeremy’s shoulder. 

 

    Jeremy shook himself out of his thoughts.

 

_     Don’t be stupid. He’s your best friend. Besides, it’s not like you’re asking much. _

 

    “Would you be my model for the art competition?” he blurted. 

 

    Michael shrugged.

 

    “Sure. Do you just need me to do some poses and shit?”

 

    “Yeah, I guess.”

 

    “Cool.”

 

    And that was it. Michael returned his attention to his game, and Jeremy berated himself for getting so worked up, fiddling absently with the buttons on his hearing aid. It had been bothering him for the better part of the week, letting out tiny squeaks at random moments that made him flinch. Every time it made noise, he was convinced that other people could hear it, but he knew that in reality, all they noticed was the way he jumped in his seat. 

 

    Still, he needed to focus on his art now. He had a notebook and pencil in his bag, and this seemed like as good a time as any to start. The light from the screen bathed Michael in a blueish hue, lighting up the lenses of his glasses. His tongue was sticking out of his mouth in a classic concentration pose, and his hair was rumpled, sticking up in wild directions. With a bit of twisting, instead of illuminating him, the light could be coming  _ from _ him. Jeremy nodded to himself and began to draw. 

 

              ****

 

    “Michael! Be careful, you're going to mess up the polish!” 

 

    “Sorry, Brooke, but my nose itches,” Michael replied, grimacing. “Jeremy! Could you help a guy out?” 

 

    “Can't,” Jeremy answered, grinning. “I'm drawing.” 

 

     Brooke laughed, and swatted Michael's hand away from his face. Michael stuck his tongue out at her playfully, then scrunched his nose up at Jeremy. 

 

    “When I told you that you should enter that contest, I didn't think I was giving you another excuse to be lazy,” he teased. “What're you drawing?”

 

    “You.”

 

    “Well, duh, I'm your model.” Michael grinned and struck a pose, making Brooke giggle. “I mean, what's the theme this time, Van Gogh?”

 

    Jeremy had transitioned through several different themes: music, light, wind, even a simple drawing in which he used only the color red. Nothing fit. 

 

    “We're back to light again. I was thinking… I got it wrong the first time, because I tried to make it too simple. And I mean, this one has both you and Brooke, but… Maybe?”

 

    “Jere? You're still half in your head, buddy.”

 

    “Oh! Right, sorry.” Jeremy put down his notebook sheepishly. “Well, last time I tried using light, I only used white light. That's too boring, of course it didn't fit you. You're not boring at all. So, I started thinking, what if I used different colors of light, like a rainbow? And this particular one does have Brooke in it, but you're still the main feature, so I think they'd accept it.”

 

    Michael snorted and leaned towards him, holding out a hand. 

 

    “Let me see.”

 

    The picture was Michael, sitting with his hands outstretched, a front view of Brooke painting his nails. Tendrils of green roots wrapped their way around his wrists, but Michael's expression remained peaceful and undisturbed. Flowers bloomed along the vines, and wherever the flowers touched skin, Jeremy had sketched out little bursts of light. It was uncolored, because his markers and pencils were all at home, but he had scribbled in feather-light directions for each little flash, tiny “r’s” or “b’s” to remind him to give the light a certain hue. 

 

    “I think it looks amazing!” Brooke chirped, tracing the lines of the roots with one finger. “You're incredible, Jeremy.” 

 

    “I'm really not that good-” Brooke cut him off with a stern glare. “-at taking compliments! But, uh, thanks.”

 

    “You're welcome. Do you want me to do your nails, Jeremy? I have blue~!” Brooke trilled, beaming. 

 

    “Not today, Brooke, sorry. I'd just pick it off by tomorrow. No use wasting your polish,” Jeremy answered, shrugging as he shut his notebook. 

 

    “Besides, me and Jeremy need to get going,” Michael said. “He promised me a round of Smash Bros before tomorrow, but I'm pretty sure he's just going to spend most of the evening drawing.”

 

    “Hey, you said you'd be my model, you basically agreed to let me dig your grave.”

 

    “Yeah, ‘cause I didn't think you'd be so slow with the shovel.” 

 

    “Shut up,” Jeremy replied, taking a playful swing at Michael's shoulder. Brooke rolled her eyes at the two of them, catching Michael's wrist when he moved to hit back. 

 

    “The polish,” she reminded him, smirking. 

    “But isn't it dry by now?” Michael complained, eyeing his nails. “They don't look wet.” 

 

    “They never do. Just try and refrain from touching anything until you get to your car. They might be fine by then,” Brooke mused. 

 

**(Tw, suicide mentions in song.)**

 

    When they got to the car, Michael turned on his CD player, but it wasn't playing Andrew McMahon this time.  [ The music ](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Db0BQ7JI4KE) sounded more like pop-rock, smooth and kind of flowy. The first note was sort of high-pitched, and Jeremy winced when his hearing aid squealed. 

 

    “Ah, piece of shit,” he hissed, reaching up to fiddle with the buttons. “Shut  _ up _ .” 

 

    Michael turned down the volume and glanced over at him.

 

    “You okay? I can change the CD if you want. Andrew's in the backseat.”

 

    “No, no, it's fine. It was just the beginning of the song, I think, and the stupid cold weather making it sensitive. Who is this, anyway?”

 

    Michael perked up and grinned. He was always happy for an opportunity to talk about his music.

 

    “This here is Declan McKenna, and the song is Paracetamol. It's pretty good, right? He's pretty talented. He actually wrote his first song, Brazil, when he was sixteen.”

 

    “That's really cool.” 

 

    “Damn right it is,” Michael declared as he pulled into Jeremy's driveway. “I hope he keeps writing.” 

 

    “Hmm, yeah…,” Jeremy replied absently. He was thinking: maybe music was the right theme for Michael after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think that I wrote that last part just to promote the music that I like... you are completely right, wow are you a psychic? Seriously, though, if I put a song in this fic, it's because I love it, so it would mean the world to me if you listened to it and told me what you think. 
> 
> I hope you all have a great day!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am,,, so sorry??? All I can say in my defense is: writer's block is a bitch. 
> 
> So, this chapter is pretty short, I know, but I wanted to produce at least a little bit of content. Hopefully writing the next one will be a bit easier. 
> 
> Also, yes, this has happened to me. First period, no extra batteries anywhere. It's a special kind of hell, I think.

The next day, Jeremy trudged through the hallways, feeling like hell. They had kept each other up for far too long, nudging each other out of sleep on the premise of “one more round.” Well, one turned into two, which turned into four, and so on and so forth. So Jeremy’s head hurt, and his hearing aid squealed incessantly as he walked the halls, no matter how he pushed, prodded, or adjusted it. He figured that it was the battery: the closer its end came, the pissier it acted. But Jeremy, forgetful as he was, never had the mind to carry around any spares. He knew that Michael had some in his locker, and he could usually count on Chloe to have a few extra in her purse, but Michael’s locker was at least ten minutes away, Chloe was already in her first period, and the bell was two minutes away from ringing. Jeremy sighed and just resigned himself to wait it out.

 

He spent most of first period doodling, mostly pictures of Michael. Last night he had colored his sketch in between rounds, and Michael had readily stamped it with his seal of approval, but it still didn’t quite seem to fit. The hammer was hitting the edge of the nail, but the man swinging it was working blind.  

 

A slow  _ beep _ drew him out of his thoughts, back to the classroom, the distant drone of the teacher’s voice, and the irritating vibrations as the kid behind him kicked his seat with a steady rhythm.  _ Beep. _

 

_ Beep _ . 

 

Shit. His hearing aid _ was _ dying. Jeremy plunged his hands into his pockets as subtly as he was able, searching for an extra pack of batteries that he might have stored in his jeans and forgotten about. Zip. All he came up with was a five dollar bill and a handful of pocket lint. 

 

Brooke was in this class with him. If he turned his head he could see her across the room, blonde hair falling in her face as she leaned onto her hand, obviously trying and failing to keep herself awake. 

 

“Brooke,” Jeremy hissed, shooting alternate glances between her and the front of the room. The teacher never paused in his lecture, but Jeremy always erred on the side of caution. “Brooke!”

 

Finally, she lifted her head and looked his way. Her eyes were round, sleepy and confused, and there was a red splotch on her cheek from resting it on her hand. She cocked her head at him, and he gestured to his head. 

 

“Batteries,” he whispered, heart pounding as the kid behind him shifted in their chair, stopping the vibrations. Brooke’s eyes widened as it clicked, and she shot Jeremy a quick, reassuring smile as she turned to rummage through her backpack. 

 

_ Beepbeepbeep _

 

Nothing. She found nothing. Jeremy smiled grimly at her, a sort of, ‘thanks for trying,’ and resigned himself to the silence that was coming. It wasn’t that big of a deal, really. Not like he minded having a bit of quiet. It was the loss of control that bothered him. Silence was nice… when silence was what he chose. There were days that he couldn’t be bothered to wear his hearing aid, and he would walk around the house, almost revelling in the peace. Those days were good, because it was  _ his _ decision to enjoy the quiet. When his battery failed, and his hearing aid shut off in the middle of class, or lunch, or some kind of social event, it was deciding for him whether he would hear or not. Being plunged into a soundless world wasn’t the best feeling, especially when there was so much input around him. It was like trying to make out details in a barely lit room. There are features to see, but peering through the darkness to see them is nearly impossible. Sounds only came through as muted babbling, muffled murmurs. Voices only came through if the speaker was right at his ear. His anxiety spiked with the possibility that he could miss something, something important. 

 

The battery died. Jeremy sank down in his seat as he listened to the sound cut out around him.

 

“And that, class was the last time I went to-”

 

“Did you hear about-”

 

“Jeremy, after class we can go find-”

 

He glanced in Brooke’s direction to see her lips moving, and he nodded at her. It was his standard answer when he couldn’t hear. Smile and nod, smile and nod and just hang on. 

 

The bell rang twenty minutes later, and Brooke came over to walk with him, leaning up so she could speak into his ear.

 

“We can meet up with Chloe before next period. I know she has some batteries in her purse.”

 

Jeremy nodded tiredly. 

 

They caught Chloe just before she made it to her next class with three minutes left of passing period, and Brooke insisted on walking with him, although Jeremy knew for a fact that her second period was on the other side of the building. She handled the conversation so he didn’t have to, and soon enough he was slipping his hearing aid off to put in the new battery, thanking Chloe as he did so. He slipped it back on, waiting for sound to revive itself, and then flashed the girls a smile and a thumbs-up, which Chloe returned before slipping away into the classroom. 

 

Jeremy and Brooke both ended up with tardy slips for coming in a whole three minutes after the bell, because Jeremy insisted on walking Brooke halfway to her next class, and took his sweet time walking to his own. 

 

When lunch rolled around Jeremy made sure to thank Chloe again, but all she did was roll her eyes and press a pack of batteries into his hand. 

 

“Put those in your backpack,” she told him. 

 

Michael watched this exchange and then tugged Jeremy over to sit by him. 

 

“Did it die again?” he asked needlessly, frowning. “You know I have batteries in my locker, right? Did you forget the combination, or did you not have time?” 

 

“I didn’t have time,” Jeremy replied, “but I’m fine. Brooke said that she would give me her notes if I need them, but I don’t think I missed anything important-.” 

 

He was cut off by an arm slung around his shoulder.

 

“Miss me?”

 

Across the table, Rich beamed and nearly lept out of his seat, crossing the distance to pull Jake off of Jeremy and into a tight hug.

 

“Jakey-D! Babe!” Rich laughed and tucked his head into his boyfriend's chest, and Jake smiled. Jeremy turned over a new page in his notebook and began sketching furiously, tracing Rich and Jake onto the clean white paper, entwined, one. He always drew Rich and Jake as a single entity, simply RichJake, because that's how they acted, how they were seen. The sun and the moon. SunMoon. Different as… well… different as night and day, but one couldn't be mentioned without thought of the other. 

 

    Mostly he drew them in a sort of cosmic dance, always touching, their conflicting colors clashing in the middle of the page, battling but somehow blending all the same. Rich, as the sun, gave off a fiery aura, and no matter his expression, Jeremy drew it with exaggeration, fierce. Jake, the moon, glowed more faintly, blue light rising from his skin like mist to vanish into the background, his face pensive and light no matter what the emotion. Still, no matter how hard he tried, Jeremy could never seem to capture the love that he saw in their eyes when they looked at each other. He had tried every expression known to man to try and show it: tender, soft, happy. Nothing worked. There was something more to it, something wild and unpredictable that was impossible to pin down and even harder to understand. They were the most unlikely pair, yet they complimented each other perfectly. 

 

    Rich burned like the sun, an endless fire of energy raging inside of him. Jake was always cool and collected, never irrational, never hyperreactive. Their personalities were the perfect yin and yang. Watching them play around, leaning into each other, interacting in a perfect balance of push and pull, Jeremy was sure that this was a relationship that would last. 

 

    He finished his sketch and slipped the notebook into his bag to rejoin conversation with his friends. Christine was describing the winter musical. She had pulled out the script and was showing Chloe some of her lines. 

 

    “I mean, look at this. My character is a complete pushover! I tried to ask Mr. Reyes if I could rewrite her to be a bit stronger, but he said no.”

 

    “That sucks,” Chloe commented. “Maybe you could find another angle to play with her anyway. Like, if you said this with a little conviction, it might help…” 

 

    Nobody seemed to want his attention, so Jeremy fell back into his thoughts and tuned the group out until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Michael smiled at him when he turned his head, and Jeremy smiled back. Michael's eyes shifted to Jeremy's hearing aid, silently questioning. Jeremy nodded. 

 

    “Okay, so I got us tickets to this planetarium in town that I never knew existed? I was thinking we could go this weekend, if you want.” Michael said excitedly, grinning.

 

    “Uh, I mean, sure, but why?”

 

    “Jeremy. Planetariums are the best things. Have you ever been to one? It's so cool, like you can see the entire night sky, and all of the constellations. I can even name a few of them.”

 

    “What, like Orion?” Jeremy teased. “Everyone knows that one.”

 

    “Very funny, Jeremiah. No, I'm talking Cassiopeia, Pegasus, Perseus… need I go on?”

 

Jeremy laughed and shook his head.

 

    “Alright, alright, you win. Do we need to be there at a certain time or anything?”

 

    “Nope. I can pick you up around twelve?”

 

    “Sounds great.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Jeremy go to a planetarium. Finally some title accuracy!

(Hey, I would totally recommend listening to  [ this song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=33Uh8G37hqM) while you read this chapter!)

    Jeremy sighed, laying on his bed, staring at the clock on his nightstand. The digital numbers glowed softly, spelling out 11:20 in all their multicolored, analog glory. It was like they were teasing him, slowing time to make him wait even longer. He rolled over and grabbed his phone, turning his back to the clock, and dialed Christine. 

 

    “What's up, Jerm?” she said smoothly, picking up at the first ring. 

 

    “Jerm?” 

 

    “I'm trying out some new nicknames, just go with it. Why'd you call? I thought you were going to the planetarium with Michael today.”

 

    “I am, but he's not here yet and the clock is mocking me.”

 

    There was silence from the other end. Jeremy rolled back over to look at the numbers. It didn't even occur to him to check his phone. The clock read 11:22, and Jeremy groaned. Of course time would decide to move like molasses on the one day that he wanted it to speed up. He had been looking forward to this planetarium date all week (he said date, although thinking of it as a  _ date  _ date brought a confused flush to his cheeks). Michael still felt too distant sometimes, but hopefully this would be just like old times. Or at least closer than they were now. 

 

    “I'm sure it doesn't mean it,” Christine finally said, pulling Jeremy's focus back to his phone. “Time is a concept, anyway.”

 

    “Oh, it means it,” Jeremy grumbled. “It’s a little shit.”

 

    Christine laughed from the other end, and Jeremy heard shuffling. “Okay, well if you’re done vilifying the clock, maybe you should check your driveway.”

 

    “What-” a honk cut him off, and sure enough, when he peeked out the window, there was Michael, grinning at him through the windshield. “How did you know?”

 

    “You’re not the only one that calls me, Jemmy.”

 

    “Definitely ditch that one.”

 

    “I regretted it the second it left my mouth.”

 

     Jeremy laughed, hung up, and raced downstairs to meet Michael at the door. He threw on his cardigan as he went, and after a second of consideration, grabbed his notebook and pencil. Maybe the planetarium would strike him with inspiration.

 

****

 

    It almost took his breath away, standing there under the artificial sky, staring up at projected constellations with Michael. The glimmering, fake stars reminded him of a memory from when they were young. An annual visitor with a blow up planetarium. Everyone would file in, shuffling on their hands and knees through the entrance, jostling for position on the floor. Jeremy always made sure to plant himself right next to Michael, and they would huddle together as the man started his show. Jeremy never heard a word of it. 

 

    The first time was as an accident. First grade, bouncing excitedly on his heels next to Michael, Jeremy's hearing aids died a little less than five minutes into the show. Silence weighs a lot heavier on a first grader. He tried to ask if he could go change the battery, but he tried to do so without speaking, and his teacher couldn't understand his frantic hand gestures nearly as well as Michael. He began to tear up, overwhelmed by both the silence and the helplessness that he felt by being unable to dispel it. Michael noticed. He put his arm around Jeremy's shoulder, pulled his friend into his side, and throughout the entire show, sat and whispered stories about the stars into his ear. They sat like that for the rest of the show, and by the time it ended, Jeremy had nearly forgotten about his dead battery altogether. 

 

    The next year, Jeremy never even paid the show director any attention. He just scooted over to Michael, plopped his head down on his friend's shoulder, and waited for the stories to start. Thus began the annual tradition. 

 

    Of course, it ended once they left elementary school; the planetarium didn't visit middle schools, and by then they were much too old to be cuddling up to each other in front of their classmates, though that didn't stop them from doing it at home. They were always naturally close when they were younger, usually touching in some way or another, an arm around the waist, entwined hands, even the slightest brush of shoulders. 

 

    Now, standing in the dark, Jeremy had an almost overwhelming urge to drop his head onto Michael's shoulder and ask for a story, pointing out one specific constellation like he did when he was little, whispering, “Tell me about that one, Micah.” 

    He almost did it, too, impulsive being that he was, but he managed to quash down the urge at the last second as Michael grabbed his sleeve to pull him towards their seats. 

 

    “Okay, so the show starts in… five minutes, I think, but I've been reading up on the stars. I want you to quiz me,” Michael said, turning in his seat to grin at Jeremy. 

 

    “Quiz you how?”

 

    “Y'know, point to a constellation and make me tell you what it is.”

 

    Jeremy laughed and nodded, settling into his seat so he could take a better look at the stars on the ceiling. 

 

    “Okay… what's that one?”

 

    “Jeremy. That's the Little Dipper. That's like, the easiest constellation ever. Everybody knows that one.”

 

    “I know! I was just… testing you?”

 

    Michael laughed, leaning across the seat rest to nudge Jeremy with an elbow. 

 

    “C'mon, Jere, gimme a hard one.”

 

    It took a lot of willpower to keep a rising smile from his lips, but Jeremy managed to, pointing out another random blob of lights. 

 

    “Okay, that one.”

 

    “Oh, that one right there? That's Delphinus, which means dolphin In Latin, and in Greek mythology, it was Delphin, the daimon that Poseidon sent to find Amphitrite, the nereid that he wanted to marry,” Michael whispered, nodding up at the projected constellation. 

 

    “How do you know about this stuff?” Jeremy whispered back.

 

    “Mostly Tumblr. But I do some research on my own. Mythology is interesting, man.” 

 

     “You're a nerd!”

 

     “You know it!” 

 

     They broke into laughter and a lady behind them let out a harsh, “Shh!” 

 

    “Damn, the show hasn’t even started and we’re already getting shushed,” Michael whispered, grinning. “Why you gotta be so loud, Jeremy?” 

 

    Jeremy huffed indignantly and nudged Michael with his shoulder. 

 

    “You’re the loud one!” 

 

    “Pshh, yeah right,” Michael teased, “I’m the loud one, not Mr. Giggles over here.”

 

    “Shut up!” Jeremy hissed, trying to smother his laugh before it proved Michael right. He failed, and Michael raised an eyebrow at him. 

 

    “Having some trouble there, Jere-Bear?” he asked, smirking. Jeremy groaned amusedly and planted his face into Michael’s shoulder. 

 

    “Stooooop,” he said, laughing despite himself. Michael chuckled and put an arm around Jeremy’s shoulders. 

 

    “Just like old times, huh?” he asked softly. Jeremy looked up as his giggles faded and nodded, making no effort to move away. It did feel like they were kids again, swaddled in darkness and each other. 

 

_ Well, that’s a cheesy thought.  _ But he couldn’t really bring himself to care. 

 

    “Remember when we used to do this?” Michael whispered, the teasing edge bleeding out of his voice. “I made up my stories back then, but you never seemed to care.”

 

    “I never noticed. You always made them sound believable.”

 

    “Well if there's one thing I've always been good at, it's bullshitting,” Michael replied, breaking the serious mood with a chuckle as the stars on the ceiling faded. A hush fell over the crowd, and Michael turned to look towards the podium, leaving his arm around Jeremy, an odd but appreciated gesture. Jeremy tried to pay attention as the man at the podium starting speaking, but the guy seemed to be suffering from what Jeremy liked to refer to as “irritatingly soft voice syndrome,” and the microphone wasn't doing much to help. Everything he said sounded like a murmur, and Jeremy couldn’t make out any of it. The rest of the attendees oohed and aahed as the ceiling projection moved and changed in accordance to whatever the man was saying, but Jeremy just sighed and pressed closer to Michael, laying his head on his friend’s shoulder with a soft huff. If he looked up, he could see Michael’s profile, outlined by the soft glow of galaxy on the ceiling, shining with stardust at the edges. 

 

    Jeremy’s breath caught in his throat. 

 

     “How boring is this guy?” Michael whispered to him, turning his head in the darkness. “My stories were way better. He’s making it sound like a lecture. I mean, it’s the galaxy, for fuck’s sake, it’s not supposed to be boring. Stars are life that we can never completely understand. They breathe light like we breathe oxygen, they shine in a dark world. Their light is like poetry, and needs to be explained as such.” Jeremy laughed breathlessly and pulled away to fumble in his pocket, searching for the notebook and pencil that he shoved into it earlier. Michael, unseen, narrowed his eyes in the dim light. 

 

    “What are you doing?” he asked quietly, confused. Jeremy didn’t answer, just flipped to what he hoped was a blank page and started sketching. It probably wouldn’t be very good quality, but he had to draw out his realization before he lost it. When it was done, he wrote a shaky title across the top and flipped the notebook shut again with a wide grin. He could nearly feel curiosity emanating off of Michael, but he ignored it, settling back into his spot at Michael’s side to wait out the rest of the show, practically bouncing in his seat. 

 

****

 

    As soon as he got back home, Jeremy jumped to work, picking a blank canvas from his closet. This was something that needed to be painted. Michael had seemed concerned when he dropped him off; something about the gleam in Jeremy’s eyes made him nervous.

 

    It took him four hours to get it right, four hours of drawing, groaning, and frantic erasing, but when he finally stepped back, he beamed and promptly collapsed onto his bed, exhausted. 

 

On the canvas, he had drawn, redrawn, and then painted Michael in his basement, lips pursed, blowing smoke into the air, holding a still-lit joint. The smoke dissolved and transformed into the night sky, thin patches showing through to create mock constellations in the faux universe. Across the top, he had written in careful lettering:

 

HE SPEAKS IN STARS. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a really short chapter, sorry, but I figured I should post something.

Jeremy didn’t wake up again until nearly two in the afternoon, when he heard frantic knocking at his door, and Michael’s voice, muffled through the door, shouting for him. 

 

     “Jeremy! Come on, open up!” he sounded hoarse, like he’d been calling for a while, prompting Jeremy to hurry as he climbed out of bed to go open the door. Immediately, Michael pulled him into a hug, then pushed him back and scanned his face worriedly. “What the fuck, Jeremy, have you seriously been sleeping this whole time? I sent you like, twenty messages, and I’ve been standing here yelling for about an hour! What the hell did you do after I dropped you off last night?” 

 

    “I was painting. It took me four hours,” Jeremy replied, a little surprised by how scratchy his voice sounded. His throat felt horrible and dry. Michael frowned.

 

    “What could you have possibly been painting for four hours? And why?” 

 

    Jeremy just grinned and pulled Michael into his room to gesture at the canvas. Michael’s jaw dropped. 

 

    “That. I was painting that.” 

 

    Maybe it was a little braggy, but Jeremy couldn’t help but admit to himself that his work looked even better in the light of day, without exhaustion pulling on his eyelids. Michael himself seemed absolutely stunned, staring at his likeness in the paint. It was a good few minutes before either of them spoke.

 

    “It's… holy shit, Jeremy, it's amazing. I don't even know what to say!” Michael managed, laughing breathlessly. “I mean, just… holy shit!”

 

    Jeremy blushed, shrugging as Michael approached the canvas. He ran a tentative finger over the paint, tracing the smoky constellations. 

 

    “Delphinus...,” he murmured, grinning. “The Little Dipper… ah! Perseus? I didn't think we talked about that one yesterday.”

 

    “I, uh, did a Google search,” Jeremy answered, face reddening further when Michael snorted. “Shut up! It's the power of three!” 

 

    “Mmhmm, then twelve to it.”

 

    “What?”

 

    “Twelve to the power of three, Jeremy, keep up,” Michael teased, smirking. “What is it?”

 

    “It's not a math thing!” Jeremy shrieked, hiding his face in his hands. “I just like working in threes,” he grumbled, voice muffled. 

 

    Michael laughed and backed away from the canvas, clamping a hand onto Jeremy's shoulder to pull him in for a hug. 

 

    “I'm just teasing, Jeremy. It’s a masterpiece, and I'm proud of you,” he said, smiling into Jeremy's shoulder as his friend hugged him back. “You're gonna win this thing, you know. It's in the bag.” 

 

    “Thanks, Michael,” Jeremy whispered, grinning like a fool, heart swelling. “Oh, and Micah?”

 

    “Yeah?”

 

    “The planetarium was a good idea.”

 

    “No shit, Sherlock!” 

 

*****

 

Now that he had found Michael's theme, Jeremy wondered how he had never noticed it before. It was so clear, so obvious. It was like a slap in the face. You never saw the hand raise, but once it hit you, you wonder how you could have ever been so blind as to not see it coming. It was in everything Michael did. He smiled with the stars, talked in a cosmic song, moved in time to the motion of the universe. He wore the Milky Way around his neck like a trophy; if he laughed too hard, shaking, bending, stardust sprinkled to his shoulders like dandruff, coating his hoodie with a shining sheen of silver and gold. Jeremy could  _ see  _ the universe in him, it lived, moved, breathed with him. 

 

    That realization was the beginning of the end. The “end” being the painful and completely earth-shattering path to discovering that Jeremy Heere was having…  _ feelings _ … for his best friend. Not that they were bad, or even alien. Jeremy had accepted that he was bisexual a little after the whole “Squip” fiasco, after he and Rich sat down for a quiet, extremely awkward, heart-to-heart. 

 

    No, Jeremy didn't repress those feelings because of acceptance (lack thereof), and not because he thought they were misplaced, either. It did make sense that of everyone in the world, he would fall for Michael. He repressed them because… well, no one liked sappy romance anymore. Even  _ having _ (or, god forbid, expressing) emotions was considered a sign of weakness among the demon horde that was the student body. His newfound “popular” (ish) status was enough to fend off the worst of it, but if he could somehow muster up enough courage to tell Michael how he felt, that umbrella of protection would burn up quicker than a haystack doused in gasoline. The only place that real feelings were acceptable anymore was in fanfiction. Not that he read any of  _ that _ ...

 

    He wouldn't do that to Michael anyway, even without the threat of alienation from their peers. They had both lived through the role of social outcast already. It wasn't as bad when there was someone else to be an outcast with. No, he didn't want to tell Michael until a) he could gather up the courage, and mostly importantly, b) their friendship had steadier footing. A romantic relationship would never pan out without the foundation of having a platonic one first. 

 

    So Jeremy sat on his feelings and focused on his art. Nearly every sketch was transferred onto canvas now, and he had nearly deprived his paint supply of all its purples and blues. His notebook was filled with drawings of Michael, and only Michael. It had been so long since he had drawn anyone else that when he tried, pencil to paper with the intention of sketching Brooke, he drew a blank. He knew what her theme was: nature, spring, blooming flowers and peaceful willow trees, as sweet as her personality. He had drawn her hundreds of times before, but now, nothing was coming to mind. His pencil only had mind for one muse, and it wasn’t Brooke. 

 

****

 

    The competition was getting steadily nearer, bringing with it its soul-crushing deadline and nervous bouts of tossing and turning at 2 A.M. Jeremy was drawing more than he ever had before, but everything that he turned out felt wrong. His friends all assured him that his works looked fine, they looked amazing, they would win the competition for him, but he couldn’t believe them. He kept drawing and drawing, churning out more and more, until finally, the competition was one day away, and the small sprout of nerves in his stomach had blossomed into an anxious flower. 

 

    They were sitting, playing video games in Michael’s basement, the night before the competition, when all that anxiety came to a head. One minute Jeremy was fine, slight headache aside, and the next he was curled over, clutching his middle, a sharp pain in his stomach all the warning he got before he was racing for the bathroom, upchucking his dinner into the toilet. Michael followed him in and sat beside Jeremy, rubbing his back soothingly. It helped a little, but Jeremy could still feel his stomach churning and taste the bile in his mouth. His eyes felt watery, and there were chunks of  _ eugh, he didn’t want to know _ in his nose. 

 

    “Y’know, that competition isn’t worth this much hurt,” Michael said softly, worry evident in his voice. “I didn’t know you were so worked up about it.”

 

    “I’m  _ fine _ ,” Jeremy argued, even though he could feel himself shaking like a child on a sugar rush. “I just need to get it over with. It’s the anticipation that’s killing me.”

 

    “Sure, buddy.” Michael’s voice was carrying that irritating, condescending, ‘whatever you say,’ type of tone, but at this point, Jeremy was too exhausted to care. “Do you think you’re done hurling? We can try to get some sleep.” Jeremy nodded and raised himself up off the floor, clutching the sink for support. 

 

    They at least made it to the bed before collapsing, both worn down by mutual stress and exhaustion, Michael’s stemming from school and the obscene number of projects that were coming due; Jeremy’s, obviously, from the competition, and the worry that his art wasn’t going to be good enough. 

 

    He had stopped letting Michael see his finished products. He wanted it to be a surprise, a present to unveil at the competition. In his imagination, Michael would walk into the gym and see himself from across the room, awash in galaxies and starlight. He would stand, speechless, gaping at the painted likenesses, and he would be awed, flattered, and proud all at once. And maybe, just maybe, the feelings would be enough to pull them back over the edge, set their friendship right. 

 

    One more day to find out. 


	6. Author Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let me make one thing clear before I say anything else: this does not mean that this fic will be abandoned.

I'm sorry, guys, I know it's been too long since I've updated. I've been extremely stressed with school and tests, and honestly just haven't been feeling up to writing. I always know when I start a fix that I'll be giving myself more stress, just knowing that people will lose interest if I don't update semi regularly, but I chose a bad time to inflict that stress on myself. 

As I said above, I will not abandon this fic. It's something that I planned out weeks in advance, and goddamn it, I will see it through to the end. 

Thank you guys for putting up with my erratic updates, and I hope you won't give up on this story just yet.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The art competition!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's on spring break? I actually ended up rewriting this chapter entirely. I had an entirely different plot line that I abandoned halfway through, then tried to restart the chapter, then decided that I liked this approach better. And since I will be posting my rejected attempts when the story is finished, you'll all have the opportunity to laugh at them with me.

    Jeremy could feel his soul trying to leave his body. He could hear the tiny  _ tic tic tic _ noises emanating from the clock in the corner, could see the reflective shine of the bright lights on the gym floor. His art was set, proudly displayed on a collapsible table that his dad found in the basement, each piece bearing a title card handwritten by Mr. Heere himself, presented to Jeremy with a shoulder clap and an, “I'm proud of you, son. Knock ‘em dead.” 

 

    Technically the showing had started a half hour ago, but the judging wouldn't begin for another thirty minutes, and Jeremy's friends had texted him that they were still about ten minutes away. 

Well, except for Rich, who had helped him set up and was currently wandering around the gym, but Jeremy couldn’t even see him in the crowd of people, so he didn’t really count as “there.”  Still, in ten minutes, he’d be seeing Michael framed in those double doors. All of his work would be on display, up for scrutiny from its inspiration, and Jeremy wasn’t sure he could handle that. He straightened a title card that was never crooked and tugged on the hem of his shirt, nervously chewing the inside of his cheek as he watched the big doors. Every time they opened, his heart leapt into his throat, but five minutes passed, and there was no sign of Michael. 

 

    “Jeremy!”

 

    Jeremy shrieked, and whipped around to face Christine, face red, startled. Luckily, she didn’t see; her eyes were glued to the canvases, and her mouth was slightly open in pleasant shock. 

“These are amazing!” Christine exclaimed, grabbing his arm to pull him into a hug, beaming. “Michael’s going to love them!”

 

    “Wa- wait, don’t you mean Mr. Reyes is going to love them? He’s the judge.”

 

    “Jeremy.” Christine stilled, fixing Jeremy with a serious stare that made him vaguely uncomfortable to see on her usually happy face. “Mr. Reyes loves only one thing: Hot Pockets. You  _ will  _ win, I have no doubt about that, but he will not love your artwork until you draw a Hot Pocket for him. Michael, on the other hand, loves a lot of things, many of which have a connection to you, so I have no doubt that he will love these amazing pieces of art.” Her smile returned, and Jeremy felt slightly better. Christine could always do that, calm him down with a few words and a hug. He attributed it to her sweet personality, since it couldn’t be any sense of inner peace. Christine was no slow-moving stream. She was a bubbling, rushing current, and sometimes even thinking about the fact that she managed to stay cool with that torrent of energy inside her was enough to calm him down.

 

    Then he heard the doors open, and Christine bounced excitedly onto her toes next to him, waving. Jeremy whirled around, and there was Michael, chatting idly with Brooke as they entered the gym, eyes catching on Christine’s waving arm and widening as they took in the paintings that she stood next to. Brooke grinned and started towards them, but Michael just stood, slack-jawed, until Brooke took his arm and pulled him along, praises flying from her as soon as they were within hearing range. 

 

    “Jeremy! These are amazing!” she exclaimed, letting Michael go to throw her arms around Jeremy, laughing. 

 

    “Thanks, Brooke,” Jeremy replied quietly, hugging her back. “I hope Mr. Reyes likes them as much as you do.”

 

    “He definitely will,” Michael finally said, sounding a little breathless as he stared at the canvases. He was all over, shrouded in stardust. In one particular painting, he was kneeling at the edge of a pond, hair neatly combed, wearing his favorite red hoodie. One hand was firmly fisted in the soil, the other outstretched, touching the water's surface. But instead of ripples, there were galaxies. Stars leaked like oil into the water, forming wavy constellations that cast a pale glow out onto the greenery surrounding the pond. 

 

    Michael let out a laugh and shook his head. 

 

"You're going to win," he said confidently, turning from the paintings to grin at Jeremy. "You're definitely going to win."

 

    "A little sure of yourself, Mr. Mell?" Both boys froze as Mr. Reyes spoke. Jeremy's face lost all its color. "Jeremiah, let's begin."

 

    "Y-yes, sir," Jeremy replied, turning to face his teacher, trying to ignore the catastrophe happening in his stomach. Brooke and Christine both patted his shoulder and excused themselves, but Michael stayed. Jeremy took a deep breath. "I'm ready." 

 

    "Alright, then. first question- although it's really very unnecessary to my eyes- what is the name of your model?"

 

    "Michael Mell," Jeremy answered, seeing Michael shift out of the corner of his eye.

 

    "Why did you choose this person?"

 

    "I, uh, because he... because he's my best friend."

 

    Mr. Reyes nodded and scribbled something onto his notepad, looking unimpressed. 

 

    "Uh-huh, and can you please explain the theme that you so obviously chose for your 'best friend?'" he asked, air quotes and all. 

 

    "I don't-" Jeremy had to stop. This entire process felt mocking, like Mr. Reyes was just making fun of him. He did have an answer prepared for this exact question, but he couldn't, just couldn't say it to that face. Mr. Reyes looked beyond bored, like he couldn't care less about Jeremy's art, his job, or even the contest as a whole. 

 

    "You don't know?" the teacher filled in, rolling his eyes.

 

    "No! I do know, I just..." Jeremy sighed. "I went with a galaxy theme for Michael because it made sense. Because space-” he gestured to his drawings- “fits him. It's mysterious, but plain at the same time. It's much more vast than anyone could imagine, with so many things still undiscovered. And it's beautiful, too. It's full of light and hope.” 

 

    "Ah, okay. You should have just said so. Now, can you please explanbabaha urdawnings y watey eanatu?"

 

    Jeremy blinked.

 

    "Sorry, what?"

 

    "I said," Mr. Reyes huffed, "can you please explaur aretts awa ey anatu?"

 

    And strike. Jeremy lived by one simple rule: there was a limit of one “what” per missed phrase. If he didn't understand the speaker on the second go-around, he just smiled and nodded. It usually wasn't too risky, (excluding one accidental gym membership incident), but he couldn't do that now. Whatever the hell Mr. Reyes had just asked him required an answer, and the drama teacher looked irritated enough already. 

 

    “Um,” he said, trying to stall as his brain frantically replayed the question, trying to find some snippet of English in the gibberish. 

    Then he felt a casual arm around his shoulder, and a whisper, quick and quiet in his ear, of, “The question was, ‘explain your art and what it means to you,’” and then the arm settled and Michael seemed to settle with it, trying to look casual while Jeremy thanked fuck for a question he could answer. 

 

    “Well, I've been drawing for as long as I can remember, and I've always kind of drawn other people, until I made more friends. Then I started to draw them. It's something about getting down to the roots of a person, finding their theme. I feel like it helps me understand them better. Of course, I've known Michael for nearly twelve years, I didn't think there was much more to understand, but I've never actually been able to peg him until now, and I realized that you can always know someone better.” 

 

    “Hmm. Good answer.  _ Long,  _ but good.” Mr Reyes scribbled something onto his clipboard and motioned towards the canvases. “Could you show me the process by which you developed a ‘theme’ for Mr. Mell?” 

 

    Jeremy nodded, motioning to one of his earlier drawings, a simple sketch of Michael in his bean bag chair, lit up by the t.v. in front of him. 

 

    “From the beginning, I knew it had to be something with light. Michael's always been kind of a… um… a guiding light for me,” Jeremy admitted, resisting the urge to hide his face. “But the more I tried to force that idea, the worse it felt. In fact, it really only came together when we went to the planetarium. Just sitting under the lights and stars and planets, I realized that that was who he was. Unexplainable, inexplicable, uncommon, incredible. He's so much as a person, space just seemed to be the only thing big enough to display it.” 

 

    “Uh-huh.” Mr. Reyes nodded. “Alright, just one more question, Jeremy, and it's an easy one. Do you have a favorite?”

 

    “Oh! Um… well, yeah, but it's not-” Jeremy shook his head and stepped back nervously, slipping out from under Michael's arm. “-I didn't bring it. Besides, it's just a sketch, anyway, so I didn't think that you'd want to see it, and it's not even that good it's just-”

 

    “Alright! Thank you, Mr. Heere, I will be moving on now,” Mr. Reyes cut him off, scowling. He scrawled one last note onto his clipboard, then flipped the page and moved on to the next table, leaving Jeremy to groan and fall into Michael, a willing cushion. He chuckled softly and pulled Jeremy onto his feet. 

 

    “Hey, I thought it went pretty well. Besides, your drawings speak so loudly that you don't really have to,” Michael said, drawing Jeremy in for a comforting hug. “You're going to win, even if the interview was a little awkward.” 

 

     “I hope so. At this point, with all the stress that this has caused me, it would be an insult not to- MICHAEL THAT GUY BROUGHT HOT POCKETS WERE WE ALLOWED TO DO THAT?!” 

 

    Michael turned, and they watched as the contestant set up next to Jeremy offered Mr. Reyes a Hot Pocket with a smirk. 

 

    “I believe that is called bribery,” Michael answered, frowning, “and no, it's not usually allowed.”

 

    “Oh shit,” Jeremy moaned, dropping his head onto Michael's shoulder. “I'm going to lose.”

 

*****

 

    Half an hour later, Mr. Reyes clambered up onto the makeshift stage at the front of the gym and tapped the microphone there. It squealed loudly, feedback filling the room. Jeremy's hearing aid squealed back like it was trying to start a conversation.

 

    When the sound finally died down, Mr. Reyes sighed into the microphone and looked down at his clipboard.

 

    “The judging is complete. I will now announce the winners of the contest. But first, the honorable mentions.”

 

    Jeremy froze in place. He didn't even let his breath move. This was it. This was  _ it.  _ The honorable mentions would pick people off, chuck them out of consideration. If he was an honorable mention, then he'd know that the running was over for him. 

 

    “We have three names written down here. Greta Speel, Connie Mcintyre, and Alvin Gren. Congratulations, you three get green participation ribbons instead of red. Now, on to our third place winner.” 

 

    He wasn't an honorable mention! Which was exciting until he realized that he might not be in the top three, either. 

 

    “In third place we have-” Mr. Reyes paused and squinted at the clipboard- “David Lovett, for his somewhat realistic pencil sketches, inspired theme, and for slipping a bribe to the judge. Congratulations, come get your bronze plastic- I mean medal.”

 

    David lifted himself onto the stage as the rest of the contestants clapped. There were a few hoots from the back of the gym, but for the most part the applause sounded obligatory. It should be, since the boy cheated to get up there. 

 

    “In second place, Jeremy Heere, for some truly impressive artwork, but a bungled interview.”

 

    If it was possible to swell up and deflate at the same time, Jeremy did it at that moment. On one hand, he was in second! That was far more than he had even dared to hope for. Of course, he was also in second, he had to be disappointed that he didn’t get first, even if it was fair. When he had told his friends that he would flop in the interview, he hadn’t been joking. 

 

    Still, Michael wrapped his arms around him and yelled happily, then nudged Jeremy towards the stage. As he stepped up onto the tiny pad, he thought he could hear Christine and Brooke cheering from somewhere across the gym, and there was a distinct flash of red that might have been Rich. 

 

    Mr. Reyes presented him with a thin smile and a silver medal. 

 

    “Congratulations, Mr. Heere,” he said, turning back to the microphone to announce the first place winner. Jeremy barely even noticed the rest of the awards. The first place winner was a tiny, dark-haired girl who squealed as she accepted her medal. 

 

    When they were finished with the special awards (most creative, most innovative, most unique), Michael fought his way up to the front of the gym to greet Jeremy as he stepped off the stage, enveloping him in a hug the moment he did. 

 

    “Didn’t we tell you?” Michael cheered, grinning. “You won!”

 

    “Second place,” Jeremy reminded him, smiling anyway. “Not exactly a win.”

 

    “Oh, please, first place is overrated, Jere,” Michael replied, laughing excitedly as he tugged Jeremy back through the crowd. “Besides, second is still incredible! Have you even noticed how many contesters you had?”

 

    Jeremy shrugged as they reached his table, then gasped as he turned to face the table. He felt his eyes starting to burn, and Michael’s hands on his shoulder as his friend looked to see what was wrong. The hands tightened ever so slightly, and Michael let out an angry cry. 

 

    At least three of his paintings, including his very first depiction of Michael’s theme, had large gashes, rips in the canvas that spanned the majority of the picture. Jeremy hiccuped and grasped one edge of the canvas, where Delphinus was split down the middle. Hands covered his, and Michael pulled him away from the defaced paintings, forcing Jeremy to focus on him instead.

 

    “Jere, hey, it’s alright. Look, we’re gonna tell Mr. Reyes, okay? He can try and find out which-” his voice dropped into a low growl, and Jeremy could tell that he was barely concealing his rage “- _ asshole _ did this.”

 

    Jeremy nodded, but he still couldn’t help the hurt that was pulsing in his chest. The attack felt personal, and it probably was. He just couldn’t believe that anyone could be so… mean. Every artist took pride in their work, and he would have thought that everyone here would be above such petty acts. After all, weren’t they artists too? 

 

    They took the issue to Mr. Reyes, who, to his credit, took it very seriously and assured them that he would do his best to find the responsible person. In the meantime, he told them, they should take the rest of the paintings home and try to relax. He held onto the three slashed canvases and apologized to Jeremy. 

 

    “I’m very sorry about this, Jeremy,” Mr. Reyes said. “I promise, we’ll try our best to find whoever did this.”

 

    Jeremy nodded, then followed Michael out of the gym, lugging three or four paintings as he went. Michael was carrying the rest, cradling them carefully to his chest like some kind of treasure. 

 

    When they got back to Jeremy’s house, Jeremy collapsed onto his bed, leaving Michael to find some place for the paintings. After he had laid them all down, he sat next to Jeremy and put a hand on his shoulder. 

 

    “This was supposed to be a happy evening,” Jeremy whined, scowling as he sniffled into his sheets. “I’m really fucking pathetic. It was just a few paintings.”

 

    “No. You have every right to be upset, Jere,” Michael argued, laying down next to his friend. “Some asshole defaced your hard work. Who wouldn’t be upset?” 

 

    Jeremy shrugged and rolled onto his side to face Michael, who gave him a tiny smile and wrinkled his nose, drawing a quiet laugh from Jeremy. 

 

    “They cut up one of my favorites, though,” Jeremy admitted sadly, feeling a tiny shiver run through him when Michael put an arm over him. 

 

    “I know. It was one of mine, too. But at least they didn’t get to the actual favorite, right? Didn’t you say that you left it at home?”

 

    “Well, actually…” Jeremy ducked his head to hide his blush and fished his wallet out of his pocket, digging around a bit for the paper to hand it to Michael. 

 

    It was a very plain drawing, a simple pencil sketch that he had retraced with pen to avoid fading. He had drawn himself and Michael, sitting side by side, twin smiles on their faces as they relaxed into each other, hands clasped. The only hint of Michael’s theme was in the scattered stars and planets hovering behind them, background shapes. Watching Michael examine it, Jeremy was suddenly aware of how very gay that sketch could seem.

 

    “It looks, uh, kind of weird,” he said quickly. “I-I wasn’t sure what kind of expressions to use, so I just kind of…” he flapped his hands uselessly in the air. 

 

    “It’s beautiful,” Michael breathed. “Jeremy, everything that you do is… beautiful.” Their eyes met over the paper and held. Jeremy looked away first. Michael coughed awkwardly and handed the paper back. 

 

    “We should probably go to bed,” Jeremy said quietly. The silence felt heavy, somehow sacred, and he was almost afraid to raise his voice above a whisper. Michael nodded his agreement, and they slipped under the covers. Jeremy put Michael’s glasses on his nightstand next to his own hearing aid, then turned off the lights.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for some Michael pov!
> 
> Michael and Brooke become close friends, fight me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates? Never hear of them.   
> This chapter was possibly one of my favorites to write, just because of the lunchroom scene.

    Mr. Reyes never caught the bastard that defaced Jeremy’s paintings. He had called them both out of study hall and “regrettably informed” them that the security footage of that night was too blurry to pick out a clear suspect. Unless someone came forward and admitted to their actions, he couldn’t dole out punishment. He gave the paintings back to Jeremy and offered another apology. Honestly, it was the most sincere that Michael had ever seen Mr. Reyes. He was used to the teacher acting snooty and sarcastic, but seeing him act so kind with Jeremy, Michael wondered if maybe Mr. Reyes cared after all.  

 

    Of course, his newfound revelation couldn’t keep his irritation at bay. The thought that someone could be so spiteful and get off scot free irked him to no end, but he had to be careful to not let Jeremy see how annoyed he was. Knowing Jeremy, he’d think that Michael was annoyed because of something that he did, which was almost never the case. Still, there were certain people who loved to jump to conclusions, and Jeremy was one jumpy kid. Example: he shrieked, actually fuckin’ shrieked, and nearly lept out of his chair when Brooke- Brooke, literally the sweetest person that Michael had ever met- tapped him on the shoulder to ask for a pencil in Algebra. He was laughing and digging in his bag for an extra pencil before Brooke could even try apologizing, but still. Michael’s point stood firm. 

 

    They were discussing the subject at lunch, too. Not Jeremy’s jumpiness, but his poor, mutilated paintings. Chloe and Jenna heard one word about the bungled security cam footage and started conspiring at one end of the table. Apparently Jenna had “an app for that” that could clean the video up, no problem. Brooke had latched on to Jeremy’s arm to comfort him, and Rich and Jake offered their support by offering to knock the wind out of the bastard if they ever figured out who it was. Christine was surprisingly silent, but she frowned through the entire conversation, and Michael could see that her hand was fisted over the strap of her purse. Jeremy, for his part, seemed to appreciate the group’s effort, even if they all knew that there wasn’t really anything that they could do. Still, it was nice to delude themselves. 

 

    Jeremy stood up and said that he was going to the vending machine to get chips, and did anyone want anything? Chloe handed him a dollar and asked for a candy bar, and when no one else offered up any requests, he left. 

 

    “That really does suck,” Rich grumbled, plopping his head down onto the table. “Jeremy doesn’t deserve that shit.”

 

    “Of course he doesn’t,” Christine agreed, finally speaking. “But people are jerks.”

 

    “C’mon, Chrissy, you can say assholes, nobody’s gonna judge you,” Rich urged, smiling playfully. Christine shook her head back at him, smiling. 

 

    “I won’t sully my tongue with such vulgarities.”

 

    “Uh… what?” 

 

    They laughed, then Brooke’s head shot up and she gasped. 

 

    “Oh no! I forgot to do my Physics homework, crap!” She dug the paper out of her bag, then spent another minute looking for a pencil. “Shit… Chris, do you have a pencil I can borrow?”

 

    Christine nodded and unzipped her purse.

 

    “Blue or pink?”

 

    “Pink, please!”

 

    Christine handed the pencil to Brooke, then started to zip her purse back up.

 

    “Uh, it’s out of lead,” Brooke said sheepishly. Christine just nodded and, without missing a beat, dug a pack out of her purse and slid it to Brooke across the table. Jake’s jaw dropped, and Chloe looked impressed.

 

    “Damn, Chris, what else do you have in there?” Michael asked, leaning forward on the table.

 

    Christine smiled and upended her purse over the table. A wallet, a phone, a notepad, a compact, some loose change, a tissue packet, a few pieces of candy, a deck of cards, some pens and pencils, and a pair of scissors clattered to the table. Jenna started laughing, and Michael stared in disbelief at Christine’s tiny purse. 

 

    “Holy shit,” Rich cried, leaning back in his chair as he laughed. “That's some Time Lord shit right there.”

 

    “What’re the scissors for?” Brooke asked, and Christine held up one finger, a “wait one minute” gesture. They watched, half in suspense, half in awe, as Jeremy approached the table, Chloe’s candy bar in his pocket, trying and failing to open his chips. He sat down next to Michael and leaned forward, looking sheepish.

 

    “Hey, Chris, can I borrow your-” the scissors were in his hands before he could even finish his sentence. Rich snuck a piece of candy while everyone was distracted, and Christine let out a tiny giggle as she began packing her things back into the purse. 

 

    “Christine, that was the smoothest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Chloe said, grinning. “You are awesome. Jeremy, candy bar?”

 

    Jeremy slid it to her, and she thanked him. 

 

    “Oh, you know what we haven’t done in a while, Jeremy?” she asked, grinning. “Makeup.”

 

    “Last time we did that, you chucked the foundation at the wall.”

 

    “It wasn’t the right shade! But I think I’ve got it this time. Please? I have an idea for my channel, but I need to try it on someone else first, and you’ve got the best artistic eye of anyone here.”

 

    Jeremy smiled a little and nodded.

 

    “Okay, but nothing-”

 

    “Nothing with the lips,” Chloe finished, tapping the side of her head solemnly. “I remember.” 

 

     “Ooh, that’s a good idea!” Brooke exclaimed, still bent over her paper. “Mikey, we should paint our nails after school!”

 

    “Didn’t you just paint them though?” Jenna asked.

 

    “Yeah, but we both pick at the polish way too much,” Michael said. “You could come with, if you want, Jen. I think Brooke has a great shade of green that you’d like.”

 

    “Oh, I’d love to, but I have to study tonight.”

 

    “Jenna~” Brooke wheedled. “You can’t study every day, you’ll study your life away.” 

 

     Jenna laughed, but didn’t back down. 

 

    “I have a big test tomorrow. If I don’t study, I’m screwed. But believe me, Brooke, tomorrow I’ll be relaxing hard with some Netflix and a big bowl of snacks.”

 

    *****

 

    After school, Michael and Jeremy plopped their stuff in the back of Michael’s car and slumped into the front seats. Personally, Michael was exhausted. He had been looking forward to spending time with Brooke, but that last period had really taken a chunk of his energy. His teacher had decided to drop a load on them in the form of a sports-related project, which sent half of the class into an excited frenzy, and the other half sinking in their chairs with almost identical groans. Of course, the sports-loving half was also silenced when their teacher further explained that they would be applying statistics to March Madness. He then proceeded to hand out brackets and instructed the class to fill them out. Michael suddenly had an inexplicable preference for teams with short names. 

 

    So now, driving Jeremy to Chloe’s house with the intent of heading to Brooke’s once he dropped his friend off, he sagged. It made no sense, that he would dread something that literally an hour ago had sounded like an amazing way to spend an afternoon, but unfortunately, this happened a lot. Even when he had plans with Jeremy, there were some days that made him feel like human interaction was unbearable; he had almost cancelled so many hangout sessions that it was ridiculous. 

 

    Still, he wasn’t going to let his bad mood ruin his afternoon. He would have a great time with Brooke, he told himself. They would probably do their nails first, and they’d talk about whatever came to mind while they waited for the polish to dry. Michael loved Brooke for her ability to match his own ten-track mind. While they’d never be able to keep up with Christine, whose thoughts seemed to go a mile a millisecond, their conversations always had an easy, comfortable pace. Neither of them ever questioned a random topic change, and surprisingly, they had a similar sense of humor.

 

  He forced himself to focus on that instead of his shitty headspace as he waved goodbye to Jeremy and put his Cruiser back into drive.           

 

    As soon as he knocked on the door, Brooke yelled through the wood.

 

    “It’s unlocked! Unless you’re a robber, in which case, I, uh, I have a weapon!”

 

    Michael laughed and stepped inside, hit with the smell of baking cookies as soon as he crossed the threshold. 

 

    “It’s me, Brooke,” he called, slipping his shoes off. “Are you in the kitchen?”

 

    “Mikey! Yeah, I’m making cookies!”

 

    “They smell good,” Michael commented, heading in to lean against the kitchen counter. The oven was already on, a pan of cookies inside, nearly finished. 

 

    Brooke laughed and gave him a quick side-hug as the oven timer went off. 

 

    “I thought we should have some snacks to eat once we’re done,” she said, taking the cookies out of the oven. “Oh, shoot. Hey, there’s a rack in one of those drawers-” she gestured to three drawers with one foot. “-Could you get it for me?” 

 

    Once the rack was gotten and the cookies scraped onto it, left to cool, they headed up to Brooke’s room and Michael plopped down onto her bed. 

 

    “Got any new colors?” he asked, grinning over at her as she pulled a few bottles out of her vanity drawer. 

 

    “Ooh! I got this really pretty shade of pink. It’s pastel, I think,” Brooke said, laying the bottles down on the bed. “And I found this really dark blue that I thought you’d like.”

 

    Michael picked up the bottle and examined the color. It  _ was  _ a nice shade. It kind of reminded him of the color of Jeremy’s cardigan. 

 

    “I like it,” he said, beaming.

 

    “Great! I thought you might want to go every other nail with…” she sorted through the bottles, looking for one color. “Ha! This red. And I was thinking of using this lighter blue for myself.”

 

    The red was just a tad darker than his hoodie, and the blue that Brooke pointed to was another pastel, a pretty shade of blue that would compliment both the pink, and her personality. Michael nodded.

    “Do you want me to do yours first?” he asked, already reaching for the pink. This was their ritual: Michael did Brooke’s while she talked, and then they switched. It was nice. Brooke’s room was warm, and her walls were a soft blue that helped add to the relaxed atmosphere. Brooke held out her hand, and Michael uncapped the polish. 

 

    “So, today in Physics, you’ll never guess what happened,” Brooke began, laying back against her many pillows. “Remember that paper that I freaked out about at lunch? Well, she didn’t ever collect it today. Which is good, I guess, because I didn’t finish it anyway, but still.” She sighed, laying her free hand across her forehead dramatically. “School is such a stressor. It’ll be a miracle if I ever graduate.” 

 

    Michael snorted. “Brooke, you’re a straight-A student. I’m pretty sure you’re gonna graduate. Now, Rich, on the other hand, is a bit of a tough case.”

 

    “He tries hard,” Brooke said sympathetically, “but I think it’s difficult for him, adjusting back to doing things himself, instead of being able to rely on his Squip. ‘Cause remember? It helped him with all his work and stuff.”

 

    “That’s true. But Jeremy doesn’t have that problem, does he?”

 

    “I don’t know. If he does, he hides it pretty well. Still, Rich had it for longer. It was probably a bigger safety net for him than for Jeremy.”

 

    Brooke paused, and when he looked up, the thoughtful smile on her face made Michael uneasy. Rightfully so.

 

    “Speaking of Jeremy… when are you going to spill them beans, Mell?”

 

    Brooke was the only person in their group that Michael really confided in. It was nothing against the others, just that she had more of a comforting personality. It made him relaxed, made him trust her. Besides, she confided in him, too. They kept each other’s secrets, and more often than not, their nail-painting sessions would turn into ranting matches. 

 

    “I know, I know, but it’s so hard!”

 

    Brooke raised her eyebrows and smirked, making Michael blush.

 

    “Shut up!” he spluttered, laughing  with her anyway. “Really though. I do want to tell him, but I can’t tell if he likes me back or not. I’d rather be sure that I won’t get rejected before I put myself out there.”

 

    “You know that that’s probably what he’s thinking too, right?” Brooke asked. “In the very likely event that your feelings are reciprocated. I mean, let’s be honest here. You know that Jeremy would never risk losing you again. Even if he feels the same way, he's never going to make the first move.” 

 

    “If,” Michael grumbled. “All we have here is speculation. You're telling me to just put our friendship on the line on the off chance that he feels the same way.”

 

    “And we've come full circle. Michael, the only thing you have to ask yourself is: do you want to be with him or not? If you do, then you should do something about it.”

 

    “Consequences be damned?” Michael asked sarcastically, reaching for her other hand. 

 

    “Yes. Because you know Jeremy. Even if he doesn't feel the same, do you really think it's likely that he'll abandon you, his best friend of twelve years, over a crush?”

 

    Michael paused, shot Brooke a look, and shrugged.

 

    “Yeah. I mean, that's exactly what he did last time.”

 

    “Shit, Mikey, I didn't mean like that. You know that was because of the Squip.”

 

    “I know, Brooke, it doesn't matter. I'm over it.” Michael finished the last nail and capped the polish. “He's trying hard to make up for everything he did when he had the Squip, and I appreciate that, but he really doesn't need to. The whole bathroom thing wasn't entirely his fault.”

 

    “What do you mean? I thought that he called you….”

 

    “Called me a loser, yeah. But I put pressure on him. I wanted an apology, and yeah, I deserved one, but I picked the wrong time to demand it. After hearing what he went through just before, I don't really blame him. It was a lot of stress for one night. I'm not saying that it was okay, but I understand why he said it.” 

 

    “Huh.”

 

    “What?”

 

    Brooke didn't answer, blowing on her nails and very deliberately avoiding his eyes. When she did finally speak, it was a perfect example of that ten-track mind that Michael was thinking about earlier.

 

    “I think we should put a movie on.” 

 

    Michael grimaced and stuck his tongue out playfully. 

 

    “Movies are mostly shit, though. It's just sappy, crappy romance as far as the mouth can barf.”

 

    “That may be true, but I need background noise to work. I have Moana! I know you don't hate  _ that _ ,” Brooke wheedled, shoving teasingly at him with one foot. 

 

    “Okay, okay,” Michael conceded, laughing as he rolled away from the barrage. “You've found my one weakness: Disney.”

 

    “Almost everybody has a Disney weakness.” Brooke laughed and poked at him again. “The remote is on the table. You have to get it, my nails haven't dried yet.”

 

    “Ugh, spending time with you is such  _ hard work _ ,” Michael joked, grabbing the remote. “I guess I'm gonna have to find the movie too.”

 

    “You guessed right, Mell. Wait, what are you doing?”

 

    “I’m… scrolling through the channels? Is this not what I'm supposed to be doing?”

 

    “No, you have to go to the search option.”

 

    “The what?”

 

    “Oh, give it here.”

 

    “Your nails?”

 

    “My nails can survive a few buttons.”

 

    *****

 

    “Brooke,” Michael declared, leaning against the kitchen counter, “you make the best damn cookies I've ever tasted.”

 

    Brooke smirked and handed him another cookie. 

 

    “Your payment for bribing the chef.”

 

    “Baker,” Michael corrected.

 

    “Oh, did you not want another cookie?”

 

    “You're right, it's chef.”

 

    They both snorted. Michael was already picking at his new polish, which was unfortunate, since Brooke was a master nail artist, but he was glad that he had come. 

 

    Take that depressive thoughts. Perish all ye who enter at the house of Lohst. He grinned at that thought the entire way home. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a mess, honestly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *surfaces from my weird hiatus*  
> *throws this chapter at you*  
> *sinks back into the sea of schoolwork and crisis*

    “Pull that chair over here and sit down,” Chloe demanded when Jeremy walked in. She was rummaging through her desk drawers, searching for something. He obeyed, and she straightened up with something clutched in one hand, grinning triumphantly. 

 

    “Okay, first, look at this.” She thrust the thing- which Jeremy recognized as a bottle of foundation- at him. “Does this look like your skin tone?”

 

    “Uh, I guess so. If not exact, it looks pretty close.”

 

    Chloe gave a muted whoop and unscrewed the cap, using the little wand on the inside of the cap to spread foundation on Jeremy's face, then smoothed it around with a sponge. 

 

    “So. What I'm going for is kind of a fire look,” she explained, sticking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. “I'm not going to show you the concept sketches. For one thing, they're really not up to par with your level, and another, I want you to see the actual finished product first. Well, almost finished. No lip stuff.”

 

    Chloe ran a small YouTube makeup channel that she updated every so often. Every look in her videos had been tried out on Jeremy first, looked over and approved by Brooke and Michael, and then validated and filmed by Jenna. Rich and Jake commented regularly on her videos, even though they knew as much about makeup as Jeremy did about sports. 

 

    She capped the foundation and seemed to be holding her breath as she backed away a few steps, eyes narrowed. 

 

    “Put your hand up next to your face,” she instructed. When Jeremy obliged, she beamed.

 

    “Finally!” she teased, reaching for some product that Jeremy had no name for. “The pale one is matched!” Jeremy laughed with her.

 

    “Now, stop squirming,” Chloe commanded, and Jeremy froze and held himself still as she applied some more stuff to his face. She had been attempting to teach him about makeup, insisting that it was just another form of art, but Jeremy couldn't get it. There were too many products, too many uses. It made his head hurt. 

 

    “So, Jeremy, tell me about your day,” Chloe said, smiling distractedly at him as she moved on to her eyeshadow palette, one of the few things that Jeremy had been able to remember the name of. “But try not to move too much.”

 

    “Okay… well, uh, you kind of know everything from first to sixth period. Um, I had a pop quiz in seventh, and eighth was horrible. You're in that class, right? You know what the project is.” 

 

    “Yep, I know. It honestly doesn't seem that bad to me, but that's just because I know enough about sports to not do horribly on it. Close your eyes.” 

 

    Jeremy groaned, stiffening again when Chloe shot him a look. He closed his eyes.

 

    “I think it's terrible, and I know that Michael does, too.”

 

    “Well duh, you two are basically mind-melded,” Chloe joked, gently sweeping the brush over Jeremy's closed lids. “I wouldn't be surprised to learn that you were telepathically connected.”

 

    Jeremy blushed, and had to restrain himself from shaking his head. 

 

    “No, we just have a lot of the same opinions,” he protested.

 

    “A lot of the same opinions doesn't explain how he literally finished an entire rant for you a week ago,” Chloe objected, and while Jeremy couldn't see her face, he was almost certain that she was smirking. “I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but Michael doesn't even  _ watch  _ Stranger Things.” 

 

    “He says he won't have any part in a trend that isn't at least three years dead,” Jeremy said glumly. “But he listens to my rants.”

 

    “And can apparently finish them for you.” 

 

    “Apparently.” 

 

    “Open your eyes for a sec.”

 

    Jeremy opened his eyes to see Chloe studying him, eyebrows furrowed, biting her lower lip in concentration. 

 

    “I think the right eye needs to be more accentuated,” she muttered to herself. “Jeremy, do you mind eyeliner?”

 

    “No, it's fine.” Chloe nodded and got back to work, instructing Jeremy to close his eyes again. He couldn't see her, but he could still hear motion, and he jolted a little when he felt the eyeliner brush on his lid. Chloe put a hand on his cheek to steady him, and continued with her work. 

 

    Jeremy sat silently for a few minutes, letting Chloe work, but he was thinking. Ever since he had realized his feelings for Michael, it was like they were weighing him down and lifting him up simultaneously, like with it there were secret, sacred words bubbling up in his throat, begging to be released. He had to get it out, or he would explode. 

 

    “Hey, Chloe, if I tell you something ridiculous, do you promise not to laugh?” he asked nervously. Chloe patted his cheek.

 

    “Nothing that you tell me can be any more ridiculous than that time that Rich got his pants caught in an escalator,” she assured him, light humor in her voice. “I promise, Jeremy.”

 

    I think I might like Michael,” he admitted. “Like, y'know, want to… date him, or something.” He had to fight against the urge to shrug. Every part of him just wanted to curl into a ball and hide, but he couldn't, so he settled on digging his nails into the palm of his hand. 

 

    “Okay, so tell him that.” 

 

    “Huh?”

 

    Chloe sighed, somehow managing to sound tired and amused at the same time. 

 

    “Would you rather take a slight risk with a good chance of success, or never take a chance and be left to pine after him for the rest of your life?”

 

    “Well, I don’t know about the rest of my-”

 

    “Jeremy. Look, even if Michael doesn’t feel the same way, it’s not like he’s gonna disown you or something. You guys are best friends. The only possible repercussion would be a few days of awkward tension. And if he does feel the same way, then you guys can get together, and you’ll both be happy.” 

 

    “That does sound nice…”

 

    “So you need to tell him.”

 

    “Right! I need to tell him!” Jeremy grinned, opening his eyes. Luckily, Chloe was sitting back on her heels, watching him come to a decision. He jumped up, filled with a sense of purpose, but Chloe rose and pushed him back into the chair, laughing and frowning at the same time, which Jeremy had always thought was impossible. 

 

    “Jeremy, you moron,” she said fondly, “I’m not done yet. You can profess your love after I get my design right.”

 

    “Oh, right!” Jeremy blushed and let Chloe guide him back into the chair. “What do you have left to do?”

 

    “Just a couple of touch-ups on the eyeshadow,” Chloe said, grabbing her brush. “It’s on the bottom, though, so you don’t need to close your eyes.”

 

    When Chloe was done, about twenty minutes later, she handed Jeremy a mirror and waited for his response, crossing her arms. 

 

    “Woah.” Jeremy grinned. “This looks amazing, Chlo!”

 

    “Thank you. Now I just need some pictures, then you can take it off and go find your future boyfriend.” Chloe smirked and pointed her phone at him. “Smile!”

 

    *****

 

    Ten minutes and fifteen photos later, Jeremy was standing on Chloe’s front porch, waiting for Michael to either respond to his text or pull into the driveway. 

 

    He only had to wait five minutes before a honk sounded from down the street, and Michael rolled into the driveway, grinning at Jeremy through his windshield. 

 

    “Need a lift?” he called, waving Jeremy over. Jeremy laughed and slid into the passenger’s seat. 

 

    “Let me see the new colors,” Jeremy said teasingly, smiling back as Michael showed him his hand with a tiny flourish. 

 

    “Brooke is a master nail artist,” Michael declared, wiggling his fingers. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” 

 

    Jeremy’s eyes slid to Michael’s face, and he had to admit to himself that he really hadn’t. He took Michael’s hand, running his thumb across the knuckles under the pretense of examining the polish. Really he just liked the warmth of Michael’s hand in his. 

 

    “Uh…” Michael’s face was red as he pulled his hand back to put it on the wheel, and Jeremy winced internally, waiting for Michael to get mad or kick him out of the car. “So, I was wondering… would you want to go to the park with me tonight? The sky’s supposed to be clear, I thought we could watch the stars,” Michael said, eyes fixed on the road as he drove, red still tinting his cheeks. 

 

    “That sounds great!” Jeremy replied, hope pricking at his stupid heart as he tried to quash it down. Just because they were going stargazing didn't mean that Michael was into him. He probably just wanted to hang out, like they always did. Still, it might be a good time to confess. Chloe had seemed pretty optimistic about the prospect of Michael sharing his feelings. If she was right, then tonight would be the perfect time to find out. 

 

    ***** 

 

    Michael honked from the driveway at around seven, signalling that he was impatient and more than ready to go. Jeremy laughed and gave him a short wave and cursory nod from the window, grabbing his cardigan and his phone, after some thought. He stumbled down the stairs and shouted a quick goodbye to his dad, who had okayed the outing earlier. Mr. Heere waved from his office and returned the sentiment. 

 

    “Tell Michael that he needs to have you home by twelve,” he called. Lately he had been trying to be more involved in Jeremy's life, and while some of it was nice- daily conversations, eating together most nights, occasional movies- some of his ‘involvement’ was also implemented in the form of rules. Jeremy was no longer allowed to stay out past ten on school nights, twelve on weekends. Only Michael was allowed to sleep over on school nights, and none of his girl friends were allowed to spend the night, period, even though he was allowed to spend the night at their houses if invited. 

 

    “Their parents have their own rules, and if they'll allow their girls to have boys over, then that's their business,” was what his dad said. 

 

    Anyway, Jeremy slipped out of the house and into his seat in Michael's car, freezing midway through shooting Michael a customary grin. Michael looked… different. Good different. Hot different. He was still wearing his red hoodie- Jeremy was actually happy about that, he loved that hoodie- but his hair was slicked back, and it looked like he had cleaned his white shoes before leaving the house. 

 

    His awkward little laugh jolted Jeremy to the realization that he'd been staring. 

 

    “Shit!” he exclaimed intelligently. “Sorry, sorry! You just- ah… you look nice.” 

 

    Michael smiled.

    “Thanks.” 

 

    Jeremy could feel a blush threatening his sanity. He turned his head just slightly and attempted to distract Michael with a bad joke.

 

    “So, what’d you get all dressed up for, Mell?” he asked teasingly, hoping that his red face was calming the fuck down. “Is this secretly a date?” God, he wished. 

 

    “Ha, very funny, Heere,” Michael replied, nonchalant tone breaking Jeremy's heart a little as he turned to back out of the driveway. “Nah, I just felt like putting some actual effort into my look for once. Gotta try everything once, right?” 

 

    *****

 

    Jesus Christ, Michael's heart skipped a fucking beat when he caught Jeremy's blush, and the question that would have been such a callout had it not been a joke. He had to keep cool, even though the blood capillaries in his face were probably about to burst. His heart should really quit, working this much overtime. 

 

    He turned to back out, grateful to have a valid excuse for hiding his face while it mellowed out, giving Jeremy some bullshit excuse that really shouldn't have been able to fool him. Michael has had the exact same hairstyle for over three years. Michael has worn the same five variations of one outfit every week, and his signature red hoodie at least four out of those seven days. (It's not  _ disgusting _ , Chloe, he  _ washes it. _ ) Michael is a person of routine. Could Jeremy really not see how strange it was that he was deviating?

 

    It was a ten minute drive to the park, and Jeremy spent the drive alternating between picking absently at the skin on his hand, a worrying habit that Michael thought he picked up from Jake, and fiddling with his hearing aid. Or, at least, Michael assumed that's what he's doing. His fingers looked like they were pressing buttons, and he could hear an occasional squeak coming from the other side of the car, accompanied by a wince from Jeremy as he sank into his seat and tried to look small. 

 

    When they got to the park, Michael got out first and rounded the car to open the door for Jeremy, grinning playfully. He wasn't exactly sure what his angle was here. Brooke had suggested the whole “confessing under the stars” thing, but for some reason, Michael found himself continually playing this whole thing off to Jeremy as just another hangout session. For god’s sake, he used  _ hair gel _ and passed it off as “wanting to try something different.” What was wrong with him? Was he really that afraid? 

    Probably. It would make sense. After all, what would happen if he confessed and things changed, for the better or for the worse? It’d break right through his routine. Things would  _ change.  _

 

    But maybe that would be a good thing. 

 

    *****

 

    They laid a blanket out near the playground, just at the crest of the hill, and Jeremy sighed as he laid back, letting his head loll to the side for just one moment, appreciating the sight of Michael relaxing. It wasn't something that he got to see often. Michael never really fully relaxed. Even hanging out together, there was always something on his mind, something stressing him out. But Jeremy could understand why he would be able to really relax here. It was a nice night, kind of warm with a light breeze, and the stars were visible. It would actually have been a perfect night for a date. 

    He turned his face back towards the sky. He had to say something, he just had to. If he didn't say it now he would lose his courage, and if he lost his courage, he'd never get it back. 

 

    “Hey, Michael-”

 

    “Jeremy-” 

 

    They both spoke at the same time, rolling over to face each other. At the accidental jinx, they both laughed. 

 

    “You go first,” Jeremy offered, ignoring the swell of disappointment in his chest, knowing that he had let his nerves get the best of him. Really, though, he shouldn't be so surprised. He was, after all, an anxious mess, self-diagnosed and confirmed by many of his friends. Did he really think that he would be able to-  _ wait one fucking moment was Michael touching his hand? _

 

    Yes, yes he was. In fact, Michael was slipping his hand into Jeremy's, and the warmth of the hold almost made Jeremy miss Michael's next words. 

 

    “Jeremiah Heere, I am the cheesiest, gayest boy that you will ever meet,” Michael said, looking nervous as hell. “And it's taken me a while, but I need to tell you that I think- jesus fuck this is corny- but you're prettier than every star in the sky, and I can't let you go another second without knowing that I love you.” 

 

    Jeremy's mouth fell open and he stared, wide-eyed, at his friend, wondering if he had somehow fallen into a dream, or maybe an alternate reality. Maybe the government had released hallucinogens into the air, or put some kind of poison in the water, and this was just one last pity fantasy before death took him. 

 

    “Jere?” A careful hand cupped his cheek, and Jeremy leaned subconsciously into the touch. “Are you okay? I mean, you're touch responsive, but you're kinda freaking me out here, man. Jeremy?”

 

    “I-I am Jeremy,” Jeremy said uncertainly, trying to bring himself back down to earth. “I am…” 

 

    “Holy fuck, did I break you?” 

 

    Ever in his dazed, shell-shocked state, Jeremy had to laugh. 

 

    “No, I just- Michael!”

 

    “I'm right here, buddy.” 

 

    “You like me,” Jeremy whispered, amazed. 

 

    “Yeah… if- if you don't feel the same way, it's okay, we can just forget about this,” Michael offered awkwardly. He started to retract his hand, but Jeremy caught it.

 

    “No! I mean, no, Michael, holy shit, I like you too!” 

 

    “You… really?” Michael laughed, beaming. “Oh my god!” 

 

    “Yeah!” Jeremy let out a breathless laugh. “I'm such an idiot!”

 

     Michael shook his head and sat up, pulling Jeremy with him. He scooted closer. Jeremy let his head tilt onto his friend’s- boyfriend’s?- shoulder with a happy sigh. 

 

    “If you're an idiot, then I'm an idiot too,” Michael said, putting his arm around Jeremy's waist. “Brooke even told me that you felt the same way, but I didn't believe her.”

 

    “Mm, you should always listen to Brooke, she's really smart,” Jeremy murmured. “We can be idiots together.” 

 

    “Sounds nice.” Michael smiled. “So, are we…?”

 

    “We're dating,” Jeremy declared. “I'll fight you if you disagree.” 

 

    Michael laughed.

 

    “Wasn't planning on it, Jere-Bear.” 

 

    They stayed there for another hour, talking and watching the stars, before Michael had to drive Jeremy home. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This may or may not be the last chapter. I've enjoyed writing this story, but the gap between updates is too big to be fair to you guys, and I'm honestly just so stressed out. I'm not going to blab about my problems, though. I'd just like to ask if you guys feel like this chapter feels final enough to be an end.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
> If this is the last chapter, I'll post some stuff that didn't make the cut in a few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually not sure how much of this is coherent. I'm too tired to look it over, so sorry in advance. XD

    Jeremy barely slept that night. He kept replaying the night in his mind, trying to convince himself that he hadn't imagined everything, that Michael really  _ had  _ agreed to go out with him.

 

    Michael had walked him up to the door when they got back, sticking his head inside to yell a hello to Jeremy's dad. Mr. Heere poked his head out of the office again to give a responding wave and a, "Hey, son, there are leftovers in the fridge if you're still hungry. Michael, you're welcome to have some." 

 

    "Thanks, Mr. Heere, but I'm gonna have to pass," Michael called back, then turned to Jeremy with a soft smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jere." 

 

    Jeremy had nodded, waiting until he saw Michael's Cruiser drive away before turning to head up to his room. 

 

    Now he was laying under his blankets, too hot to be comfortable, but too lazy to do anything about it. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a text from Michael.

 

_ Goodnight Player 2 <3 _

 

__ *****

 

    The next day, Jeremy had barely even put his stuff in Michael's car before he started talking.

 

    “Okay, I thought a lot last night, and this is going to be a lot of incoherent rambling, but you're going to humor me,” Michael said, shooting a warm smile across the console to greet Jeremy. “I think I know who slashed your paintings.”

 

    Jeremy stiffened, sitting up straight as he stared at Michael incredulously. “Who?”

 

    “Remember that kid who got third place, the one that bribed Mr. Reyes?”

 

    “Yeah.” That kid had given him dirty looks all night. Jeremy hadn't even been able to see why that kid was participating, or how Mr. Reyes managed to justify giving him third place. The only thing on his table had been an avocado, split in half, with toothpicks sticking out of the pit. 

 

    “I think he did it. I can't prove it, obviously, but…” Michael cut himself off as he parked, then whipped out his phone and thrust it at Jeremy. “Look at his Instagram. Read the caption on his last picture.”

 

    It was a photo of the kid proudly flaunting his middle finger, a smug smirk on his lips. The caption read,  _ aint it nice when high and mighty assholes get what they deserve?  _

 

    Jeremy had to snort a little as he scrolled through the rest of the pictures. They were all very similar, and the captions all danced to the same tune, mocking and usually aimed at one specific person with very little subtlety. 

 

    “He's not much of a writer,” Michael said, taking his phone back as they got out of the car, “but the point is pretty clear. I mean, it was posted the day of the competition, and you probably saw all of the pictures of his impressive pocket knife collection.”

 

    “Why would he call me ‘high and mighty’ though?” Jeremy wondered, frowning. 

 

    “Maybe ‘cause you beat him? And you did it without cheating?” Michael suggested. “You can't always understand the why of people's actions, Jere.”

 

    “Okay, okay. But I doubt Mr. Reyes will take one picture and some speculation as proof.” 

 

    “Probably not, but we can still try.” 

 

    Mr. Reyes did not take their one picture and speculation as proof. 

 

    “Boys,” he said, sighing irritably.  “I've been patient, I looked into the problem, and I couldn't find anything. The fact that you suspect this student does not change the more important fact that you have no concrete proof. Without something solid, I cannot do anything. So please, don't waste my time with guesses.” He shooed them out of his office.

 

    *****

 

    Lunch was filled with scheming. Michael shared his suspicions with the group and made sure that they knew who the kid was, what he looked like, what name he had (David), and how stupid of a name it was. 

 

__ “Unless he rode out of his mother’s uterus on a BMX bike, popping a wheelie, there is no excuse for him to be named David.” Michael had an innate love for Chris Fleming, and his wonderfully worded insults. “Now, what you all need to do is keep your eyes and ears open. He seems talkative enough, and I'm sure that someone like him would love to brag about ruining someone's day.”

 

    “And their hard work,” Christine piped up, wiggling forward from where she was sandwiched between Rich and Jeremy. “I think he's in my English class. I'll sit close to him today.” 

 

    “Great. Rich, Jake, doesn't he have gym with us second period?” 

 

    “Yeah,” Jake answered, considering. “And you know, he's been trying to get me to join his ‘gang’ for about three weeks now. We could arrange some kind of inside job.”

 

    Jeremy laughed, thinking that it was a joke, but Michael hummed, and Jake's face didn't change in its serious set. 

 

    “Holy shit, you're serious?” he asked incredulously, looking from Michael to Jake. “Guys, I appreciate the effort, and the…. sacrificial suggestions… but you don't have to do anything. I mean, yeah, what he did was shitty, if it was him, but honestly, it doesn't bother me anymore. I can redo the paintings if I want to.” Jeremy smiled, savoring the unspoken thought in his head of  _ besides, I got something so much better than paintings _ as he took Michael's hand underneath the table and squeezed it gently. Michael leaned into his side a bit and squeezed back. Nobody else seemed to notice the shift of mood on both of their faces as they smiled contentedly. 

 

    “Well, okay, I guess you're right,” Jake amended. “Going that far just for some justice probably isn't a good idea. I'm still keeping an ear out, though.”

 

    “Personally, I think he'll get what he deserves,” Chloe interjected. “Whether we have a hand in it or not. Karma is funny like that.” 

 

_     ***** _

 

    “Michael! Hurry up, the show’s gonna start soon!” Jeremy yelled, settling into Michael's couch with a tiny huff, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. They had decided, after much prodding from Rich, to watch a few episodes of Doctor Who. It was suitably sci-fi for Jeremy, and the fanbase was old enough to sort of meet Michael's criteria. Rich had insisted on pleading a loophole, as the show itself  _ had  _ been dead for a good few years before the revival. 

 

    “I'm coming!” Michael yelled back from the kitchen. “And you know, you could just pause it?” 

 

    “No, I can't!” 

 

    “Yeah, you can, the remote’s on the-” Michael walked into the room and stopped, staring at his boyfriend, curled into the couch cushion, blanket a tight cocoon around his body. 

 

    “Micah?”

 

    Michael shook his head, put the snacks on the table, and laughed as he settled onto the couch next to Jeremy, almost immediately finding his arms full of a blanketed geek. 

 

    “You're too cute, Jeremy.”

 

    Jeremy gave him a sleepy smile and tucked his head into Michael's chest. “And you're warm.” 

 

    “Dude, no I'm not. I'm like a walking icicle,” Michael protested with a laugh, letting his hands settle inconspicuously on where he guessed Jeremy's hips to be. If it came to it, one surefire way to always win an argument against Jeremy was tickling. Even one brush of fingers would have Jeremy going down with a squeal. “You're the one who radiates warmth like a heater.”

 

    “Well, not tonight, apparently.” Jeremy replied, letting out a soft, happy sigh. Michael's heart swelled, and he couldn't bring himself to interrupt this peace with an attack, instead dropping a kiss to the top of Jeremy's head. 

 

    “Dork,” he commented fondly. 

 

    *****

 

    Christine nearly crash-landed in her seat the next day, grinning from ear to ear. 

 

    “Jermble!” she greeted, giving him a quick nod. “Mikey, Richard, Brookie, Jen, Chlo, Jake.” 

 

      “Aw, why don't I get a nickname?” Jake complained.

 

    “Because J sounded too informal,” Christine replied distractedly, digging in her purse. She pulled out her phone with a triumphant flourish, grinning as she opened it, revealing a video. 

 

    “So, Michael was right. That kid, David? He did it.” She pressed play, and they all leaned in as the recording played, projecting the muted sound of background chatter, one voice ringing clear above the din. 

 

_ “Dude, I still can't believe you bribed Reyes into giving you third place!”  _

 

    The camera angle shifted, lifted, the screen changing from a fuzzy black to a semi-clear, slightly shaky picture of David and his friends.

 

_ “I know, right? You're so awesome, dude!”  _  One of the kids on screen shifted in his chair, face moving out of the camera's sight. 

 

_     “Did you really cut up that one kid's paintings?”  _

 

_     “Hell yeah, man. He didn't deserve second place, his art looked like shit.”  _ It was undoubtedly David; they could see his mouth moving as the audio played. Then the teacher entered the room behind the group of boys, and the video cut off. 

 

    Michael shifted closer to Jeremy, and none of their friends seemed to notice when he entwined their hands together under the table, bumping his shoulder into his boyfriend's supportively. 

 

    “Well. We now have something solid,” Michael declared. “I say we take that to Mr. Reyes after school and let him dish out some justice.”

 

    The rest of the table agreed with various cheers, and Christine sent the video out to everyone in the group, just in case something happened to it or her phone before the day was over. (“You can never be too careful, Rich.”)

 

    *****

 

    David was suspended for a week, and Mr. Reyes forced him to write an apology letter to both Jeremy and Michael. 

 

    “And if it's not sincere, you can watch me burn it while you start on your next draft,” he hissed, crossing his arms as David scowled, standing next to Jeremy and Michael in Mr. Reyes’s office. 

 

    “I'm already suspended! Why do I have to write some fucking apology letter?” David complained. Jeremy could see his hands clenching, and he inched away, subtly grasping Michael's sleeve. 

 

    Michael leaned forward to stare at David around Jeremy, scowling right back. “Because you're an asshole, and what you did was shitty.”

 

    “Mr. Mell, poor choice of words, but spot-on in terms of sentiment.” Mr. Reyes stood up and sighed, clearly ending the conversation. “This is settled, now get out of my office. I want to go home.”

 

    *****

 

    Jeremy received his apology letter a week later. It wasn't well written, and it definitely wasn't sincere, but at least it wasn't blatantly uncaring. 

 

    Michael got one too. They spent an afternoon laughing at their letters, curled up on the couch with their arms around each other. 

 

    Jeremy sighed and tucked his head into Michael's chest.

 

    “I'm glad this whole thing is over,” he muttered. “Can we just be normal now?”

 

    “Jeremy,” Michael said, sounding teasingly offended. “You’ve never been normal. I’ve never been normal. Normal is boring. I love you  _ because  _ you're not normal.”

 

    “You really shouldn't. Love me, I mean. I'm kind of a jerk.”

 

    “You're my jerk. I like to think that I'm rehabilitating you.”

 

    Against his best efforts, Jeremy snickered.

 

     “That's not how it works!” he protested. “We can't just fall in love and expect all our problems to go away.”

 

    “When did we say that that was the plan?” Michael moved to meet Jeremy’s eyes. “Jere, I'm not naive. I know that we've still got a lot of stuff to work through. But part of being in a relationship is being able to work through those things together. We've always been a united front, we're just going to cuddle a lot more often.”

 

    “What about kissing?” Jeremy asked softly. It was something that they hadn't really brought up, but it  _ was _ something that they needed to talk about. Jeremy's only experience with kissing had been under the Squip’s instruction, and he honestly hadn't thought too highly of it, even before he had actually kissed anyone. It felt weird. When he had kissed Brooke under the Squip’s influence, the whole time he couldn't shake the thought that kissing was literally just skin touching skin, and that Brooke’s skin could have touched a thousand other guys’ before it touched his, which technically meant that he was kissing every guy that  _ she  _ had ever kissed. Not good thoughts to be having in the middle of making out. It was an awkward moment, at best. 

 

     Then there was the whole Halloween experience. If he thought about it he could still taste the alcohol on Chloe’s breath, or feel the slimy stickiness of her lip gloss.  **(Hey, sorry, author here. Right at this point I'd like to tell you to keep this line in mind, I'm going to address it in the end notes. Back to your irregularly scheduled fanfiction.)** It was a train of thought that he preferred to derail before it could leave the station. Halloween had been a bad night for everyone, and even though they had worked through it, talked it out, the memories of it was still there, albeit faint.  Jeremy thought it would probably take a while for the influence of that night to go away completely, but all things considered, he thought that they had all done a pretty good job at moving on. Even Michael. Even Jeremy himself. 

 

    Except for kissing. He still couldn't even think about kissing without shuddering, but kissing was a part of relationships. It was expected. Michael would probably want to kiss at some point. 

 

    Jeremy hated that he didn't really want to kiss Michael. It wasn't that he didn't love his boyfriend- because he did- it was just that the thought of kissing  _ anyone  _ made him uncomfortable, and if he kissed Michael, he didn't know how he would feel. That wasn't exactly something that he could explain, though.

 

    “I mean, I'd be up for some kisses,” Michael answered, smiling a little. Jeremy's stomach clenched. 

 

    “Hm.” He nodded to acknowledge Michael, then made to move back to his place against Michael's chest. It was nice resting his head on Michael's chest. When he got the position right, he could hear his boyfriend's heartbeat, even without his hearing aid. It was soothing, and the smell of Michael's hoodie surrounded him with an oddly comforting combination of vanilla and faint traces of weed. 

 

    “What do you mean ‘hm’?” Michael asked teasingly, poking Jeremy's arm. “What, you don't wanna kiss me?” 

 

    “Not currently, no,” Jeremy returned, voice muffled. “You have sushi breath.”

 

    “Hey, I'm not ashamed of my sushi-eating habits. Besides, do I need to remind you that you ate it too?” 

 

    Jeremy shrugged.

 

    “Hey, Jere. What's wrong?”

 

    “I don't want to kiss,” Jeremy admitted. “Like, at all. And I'm sorry, I know that's really weird, and it's nothing against you, I swear, it just… it makes me uncomfortable.”

 

    “Okay,” Michael said simply. His voice didn't hint at anything. There was no way for Jeremy to know if that was ‘okay, I accept your weirdness. I might not understand it but I'll respect it,’ or ‘okay, if you can't even be normal enough to kiss me, that's fine. I'll just break up with you later and find someone who will.’ 

 

    “Okay?” he nudged.

 

    “Okay,” Michael repeated, tone lighter, as if he could sense Jeremy’s dilemma. “If it makes you uncomfortable, we don't have to kiss. I'm not gonna make you do anything that you don't want to, Jeremy, and I'm actually glad that you told me. I never wanna make you feel bad or uncomfortable, you know?”

 

    “I know.” Jeremy grinned into Michael's hoodie, feeling giddy and relieved and in love all at once. “You're an amazing person, Micah. You should know that.” 

 

    Michael just smiled, shrugged, and put his arms around Jeremy. They laid there until they fell asleep. 

  
  


**On a really serious authors note, I have to sit you guys down (or y’know, you can stand. I'm not picky. What am I gonna do, dictate how you read?) and have a chat about what happened with Jeremy and Chloe. Now, this is entirely my own opinion, feel free to disregard it at will, I just need to say this. I couldn't find the right place to fit it in as I was writing, but I want to make it clear that Chloe is not, and never will be, a bad person in my writing. Any discomfort that Jeremy feels does not stem from her. From her actions, yes, but not from her. Like it says in the story, Halloween was a mess for everyone. Mistakes were made, on all sides. BUT. I don't believe in defining anyone, even a fictional character, by one mistake. Especially not a teenager. Especially when most of the blame of what happened is wrongly assigned to her, when the Squip is what prevented Jeremy from escaping the situation. I'm not saying that what happened was okay. I'm just trying to point out the fact that people can change. It's what makes us people, and quite honestly, it's what makes a good character. We make our mistakes, we correct what we can and learn from what we can't.**

 

**I'm prepared for discourse in the comments, and I'm aware that this is probably unintelligible, but I think it needed to be said. Plus I'm really kind of stressed right now, it feels good to be able to express something.**

 

**ALSO! It is important to note that Jeremy's discomfort with kissing is partially a headcanon and partially just me projecting. Okay, it's mostly me projecting. Obviously. I mean, the boys kiss in most of my other fics.**

 

**P.S. (Oof I'm aware that this is really long) If you're asking why I wrote this under the story and not in the actual endnotes… then you've got a good question! It's because my endnotes are really funky! And I don't know how to fix them! Yay! I love being technology's bitch!**

  
  



	11. Cut Content

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here you go! The stuff that didn't live up to my expectations. The fact that there seems to be less of it either means that I'm improving, or that my standards are lowering. Hmm...

    In the year that he had known them, Chloe, Jenna, Brooke, Christine, Rich, and Jake, the very kids that, before the “Squipcident,” had intimidated both him and Michael, had proven themselves to be an amazing group. They were loyal, fun, and a hell of a lot more compassionate than Jeremy would have pegged them to be a year ago. 

 

    Jake became a sort of protector for the rest of them, deflecting most of the shit that people usually threw Jeremy’s way. Of course, the shit started to die down in the last dregs of junior year. There was no point in messing with anyone under Jake Dillinger’s wing. 

 

    Rich, de-Squipped, apparently sported a nerdy streak, and he began to slowly integrate himself into Michael and Jeremy’s twosome. 

 

    Chloe apologized for Halloween, first to Jake, then to Brooke, and lastly and most profusely to Jeremy. She offered no excuse for her actions, and simply stated that she hoped he could forgive her with time. Jeremy accepted her apology, and the resulting hug. 

 

    Brooke was an absolute sweetheart. She accepted both Jeremy and Chloe’s apologies with a smile and a wave of the hand, and then promptly offered them both cookies. 

 

    Jenna, as soon as Jeremy opened his mouth, pulled him into the empty seat next to her, and asked him if he knew a good site to watch “The Count of Monte Cristo” for free. Jeremy’s suggestion ended up being a horrible lag, but Jenna just shrugged and told him that she’d send him a link if she found a better site later.

 

**Fun fact: that last paragraph is based off of experience. I tried to find a site to watch that movie on when my friend came over and it was AWFUL, we had to pause the movie every ten minutes to let it load. The saddest part is that I own the movie, we just couldn't watch it. The DVD player was already taken and in use. But yeah, I think it's pretty clear why I decided to cut this. It's choppy, and to be completely honest, a little too cheesy for my tastes.**

 

**Now, this was originally going to be Chapter 6. I scrapped it for two reasons. The first and most important being that I got to a certain point and then realized that I had nowhere else to go. The second... well.... I write on my school computer sometimes, because I tend to finish my assignments in class, and I get bored. So I was writing in ac lab (ac lab, study hall, free period, there are so many names for it) and apparently my friend was watching me write over my shoulder, and in my docs, I always put some goofy phrase or sentiment next to a new chapter, and this particular time it was "Chapter 6 WOOHOO". I am a naive child. I have not played the Sims in my life. I did not know the vulgar meaning of the "woohoo". (But apparently it's a reference to the horizontal tango, if you catch my drift). But my friend is not, has, and did. Essentially, she thought that I was writing a morning after scene.**

**I decided not to go that route.**

**To be fair, I can kind of see why she thought that.**

 

Jeremy woke up with the strangest feeling of calm. For just one minute, he felt the eye of the hurricane, a small reprieve before his worries came crashing back, bringing an intense stomach ache with them. For better or for worse, this was the day. If nothing else, at least it would be over after tomorrow. 

    It wasn’t until he tried to push back the covers that he realized he was still at Michael’s house. He pushed at the blankets, but somebody else pulled back, and Jeremy looked over, vaguely irritated- it was a testament to the time that he skipped straight over confusion and paranoia- to see Michael, back facing him, gripping the blankets tightly, and his brain groggily connected the dots, also taking the moment to remind him of the fact that he had puked most of his guts out the night before. 

    He was huffing and scrabbling for his phone to check the time when he heard movement from behind him, felt an arm wrap around his waist, and was pulled backwards into a warm body with a yelp. Michael- of course it was Michael- mumbled something unintelligible and pressed his forehead into Jeremy’s shoulder.

    “Michael,” he hissed, blushing. “Michael! Wake up! I need to get my stuff to the school!”

**I'm such a sucker for snugglesssssss**

 

**This was my original idea for the competition. It was gonna be really angsty and fluffy, and really personal, but writing it felt wrong so I decided to go another way.**

    Jeremy smiled, and opened his mouth to reply. 

_ Beep. _

_ Beep.  _

_ Beep.  _

    The smile dropped off of his lips like a weight. 

    “Jeremy?” Christine put a hand on his shoulder. “ What's wrong?”

    “Batteries. I need batteries.  _ Shit _ !” he exclaimed softly, fisting his hands in his shirt. Brooke whipped out her purse, and Michael replaced Christine at Jeremy's side as she turned to search through her own bag. 

    “Hey, Jere, it's fine. You'll be fine! Chris probably has some batteries in her purse…” he trailed off to look at Christine, who shook her head, eyes wide. “Oh. Well, um, I'm sure Brooke has some?” 

    “No,” Brooke muttered, still pawing through her purse’s compartments. “I'm so sorry, I could have sworn I put them in here…” 

    “Mine are in my backpack,” Jeremy said, “at home.” 

_ Beepbeepbeep _

    And the sound faded out. Jeremy grabbed Michael's arm. 

    “Okay, Brooke is going to go to the store, alright? It's a five minute drive, and it should take her maybe three to find the batteries and get checked out,” Michael said, leaning in to speak into Jeremy's ear. “You'll be fine. Chris says that Mr. Reyes should still be about fifteen minutes away from your-” Michael turned away suddenly at movement from Christine, and Jeremy lost the rest of the sentence. He saw Christine's lips moving, and her hands were motioning frantically, but all he heard were garbled noises. 

    Still, he could see Mr. Reyes starting down his row, only three table away. His heart leapt in his chest, but not in a good way. His hold on Michael's arm tightened.

    “Michael, I can't do this,” he mumbled, eyes fixed on Mr. Reyes. “Oh my god, I can't do this.”

    “Yes you can.” Michael said firmly, leaning close again. “Look, you've got a few options. You can tell him your hearing aid died-”

    “I can't do that.”

    “-or I can help you. I'll repeat the questions for you, okay?”

**My god, it’s actually not even funny how much of this is based off of real life. Picture me (wait you don’t know me… picture a genderless blob) in my seat, taking some notes, maybe some very important notes, and then hearing that goddamned beeping, then silence. It’s happened. It’s actually happened in the middle of conversation, too. I’ll be talking, they’ll be talking, and then just… boom. Nothing. Cue me gaping like a fish, trying to puzzle out what they just said without coming off as a total moron.**

**Now, I am allowed to leave class without asking to change the batteries in my hearing aid. I have never exercised that right. I mean, would any of you? I’m a nervous wreck! I couldn’t honestly stand up, maybe (definitely) attracting eyes, grab some batteries and just walk out without a word to the teacher. Even thinking about it makes me cringe. And trying to explain it isn’t any better either. I can’t exactly raise my hand in the middle of a lecture that _I can no longer hear_** **and say “oh, my hearing aid died I need to change it.” Okay, put like that it sounds easy, but I wouldn’t be able to hear the teacher’s response. If they said no, I’d leave anyway, cause if I ever do that I’m just going to assume that they’ll say yes.**

**Yeah, I’m a mess.**

 

**At the contest, again, as Mr. Reyes was announcing the winners.**

 

Sucy Mollek, for excelling with watercolors and portraying her model in such a unique way. Hooray, you get silver.”

    The clapping resumed half-heartedly, and Jeremy knew that all the other artists were mirroring him, leaning forward in anticipation, waiting with bated breath to hear the first place winner. The only thing that they couldn't match was Michael, who was waiting beside him, hand held supportively at Jeremy's arm. 

    “In first place… the writing is smudged. I need to invest in better pens,” Mr. Reyes muttered. “Ah, yes. Alright, I've kept you in suspense long enough.” He stopped, looked around the auditorium, and grinned. 

    “Would Ms. Terry Mitchell please report to the stage?”

    There was a collective sigh. Every unchosen kid in the room deflated, folding in on themselves like sad, pathetic balloons as Terry, a small girl with mousy brown hair, skipped up to the stage. Michael put an arm around Jeremy's shoulder and shrugged. 

    “Mr. Reyes doesn't have an eye for art,” he said, tone light. “You shouldn’t feel bad.”

    “Psyche!” Mr. Reyes cried, cackling. Poor Terry froze halfway to the front of the gym. “I'm sorry, dear, but you're not the winner.”

    She took it surprisingly well, simply nodded and turned to go back to her table. 

    “Okay, okay. For real this time. In first place we have Jeremy Heere, for some truly spectacular art, even if he did bungle the interview.”

    Jeremy gasped, still frozen in place. Michael had to nudge him to get him moving, plodding across the gym and up onto the stage, still shocked. Mr. Reyes offered him a smirking smile and handed him a gold medal.

    “Congratulations, Mr. Heere. Maybe next year you'll be more confident in the interview section. You really did have excellent responses. You just need to be more sure of yourself.” 

    Jeremy grinned and accepted the medal, looking out across the gym. His eyes caught on Michael, clapping and cheering from back at his table, and Brooke and Christine on the other side of the room, bouncing on their heels as they applauded. He felt his face flush. 

    “Thank you all for attending, thanks to all of our participants, better luck next year,” Mr. Reyes said, waving his hand to dismiss the students on the stage. “Competition over, you can all go home now.”

*****

    The rest of the evening consisted of squeals, cheers, and congratulations. Brooke had somehow latched onto Jeremy's arm, and refused to let go the entire car ride home. Not that Jeremy minded, it was just a bit challenging, trying to find a way to buckle his seatbelt with the wrong hand. 

    After they had dropped Brooke and Christine back at their respective houses, it was just Jeremy and Michael in the front, Jeremy's art moved carefully from the trunk to the backseat, wrapped in blankets to dissuade movement. Michael's smile hadn't faltered once since Jeremy won, and they chatted excitedly all the way to Jeremy's house.

 

**I don't know, it just seemed really choppy to me, and I wasn't sure about Jeremy winning first.**

**I did love writing Mr. Reyes's parts though. XD**

 

**Okay! I hope you all enjoyed reading my failed attempts. I don't know how long it'll be until I post my next story, because while I do have some things in the works, I'm also going to get significantly... less motivated? in 5 days. I don't know, to be honest. I'm having surgery, and they haven't told me what the recovery is going to be like, so we'll see.**

 

**Thank you all for reading, and for your lovely comments! I love reading each and every one of them. I hope you all have an amazing day, a stunning week, and a fantastic (rest of the) month!**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I figuratively live for kudos and comments. And come yell at me on Tumblr! I'm amber-angel.


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